The Rose and The Mask
by BlueBeauty
Summary: Christine Daae is only part of the ballet chorus at the Paris Opera House. What happens when someone finds interest in her and decides to help her on her way to fame? A retelling of the book and musical combined. Completed!
1. Rumors of the Opera Ghost

A/N: This story has nothing to do with my Phantom's Mask (it is not a prequel.) This story begins when Christine Daae has been at the Opera House for several months now, and has not yet met Erik. This is a mixture of the musical and book. The question is will Erik get Christine in the end like we all wished he had? Read and find out! R&R…

Edit: I have decided to come back through and try to make this story better. I suppose with how many chapters I have in this story, you'll be seeing a lot of me!

Christine Daae smiled softly as she gazed over the city of Paris from the roof of the Opera House. She came to the roof often since she wasn't overly fond of the stage and dark hallways below her. What better place to go than up where you could almost touch the cerulean sky and the spires of churches? The wind played with her skirts like a kitten batting a lace hem around someone's ankles. Her hair was in total disarray, it lay in tangled brown curls around her waist. Her hair ribbon had long since been flung from her hair and off the side of the roof into the streets of Paris below.

How her father would have loved the view from the roof. He would have played his violin and sung a song about the city of Paris, for he knew almost every song that had been written. He had an ear for music and it seemed that he had passed it on to his daughter. Little Christine had been thought of as something of a prodigy when she was small. But the death of her father had taken her love for song and passion for music. She felt as if her heart had been ripped in two when he had died. What was worse? A coffin or a silent violin? She did not know. How she longed for him to be again by her side guiding her through life and giving her the advice she cherished greatly. His smile was something she also longed to see again. How it filled her with warmth! It was a smile she would never see again. It was his music that she would never hear again. The Paris Opera house roof was seemingly the only way she could be any closer to heaven where her papa was.

"Oh Papa," She sighed. She wondered if she had pleased him by joining the Opera chorus. Would he be happy that she was just one of many girls who sang together rather than alone as the lady of the stage? He would have wanted her to be happy and enjoy such an opportunity, but how could she when she knew she would never be happy again?

"Christine!" Meg called. Her little voice was almost swept away by the wind. She had come on to the roof. A much too large cloak covered her thin shoulders and costume. Christine turned quickly to face her friend. "Mama has been calling for you! It is almost time to practice!" Meg was trembling from all the excitement that was going on. She'd never seen her mama so angry by the absence of one girl, but then Christine had been wandering off more than usual lately. Christine hurried down the steps with Meg in quick pursuit behind her. It took her only five tortured minutes to dress in the slave girl costume for the dress rehearsal of _Hannibal_. Meg hurried away to inform Madame Giry that Christine was on her way. She dreaded the look of anger from the ballet mistress that she was sure to get for delaying practice. But it had been her own fault for lingering on the roof.

"Christine Daae!" Madame Giry struck her staff down on the stage floor. Some of the ballet girls whimpered. "You have been holding up the rehearsal." The woman said with rage creeping into her voice.

"Oui Madame, I'm very sorry." Christine said compliantly. She hurried up onto the stage and got into place. Meg gave her a compassionate look. Madame Giry was the stern leader of the ballet corps. She was always dressed in black taffeta, and her raven hair was always placed up in a strict bun. Her black eyes held no warmth, and some say that had to do with the mysterious death of Monsieur Giry many years ago.

I'm sorry Christine," Meg whispered as they stretched out. "She's been rather irritable lately since she found out the managers are retiring."

"MEG GIRY!" Madame Giry shouted above the giggles and shrieks of the ballet girls. Meg whipped her head around to see her mother glaring at her. "Are you a dancer or not?"

"I'm a dancer mama," Meg said in a whispery tone, she stared down at her ballet shoes.

"Then act like one!" Madame Giry turned to shoot dark looks at many of the ballet girls until they were once again quiet. "I'm ashamed! Such form!" Madame Giry spoke sternly as she observed them. Christine felt her muscles scream for mercy, but dare not let up until Madame Giry had looked in the other direction. Sounds of workmen working on the sets of _Hannibal_ filled the air, their hammers echoed as the pounded nails into place. Painters worked their brushes on the scenes using great detail with their oils.

"Did you hear that Vincent Sosiete broke his foot when one of the props from Hannibal crashed down on him, I think it was a wooden tree!" A girl behind Christine whispered to another.

"No!" The girl shrieked softly so that Madame Giry wouldn't hear her. "It must have been the Opera Ghost!"

"The Opera Ghost!" Another girl chorused. Meg shot the girl a look resembling her mother's glares.

"Shh! Do you want her to hear you! Than I will not be able to tell you what happen to Monsieur Lefite!" Meg said sounding like a conspiratress.

"Oh! Do tell!" A girl whispered loudly. Her cheeks were pink with excitement. Meg glanced over at her mother before beginning her tale. Madame Giry was in an angry discussion with one of the stage hands who had unfortunately run into her in his great haste to get somewhere with a ladder!

"Well," She said warily looking at the eager girls who had gathered around her. Christine was still stretching in the corner of the stage knowing all to well this "story" was probably just another tale spun out of proportions by Meg. She glanced over at her friend and gave her a sad smile. Meg was an excitable little ballet girl. She was timid as a mouse with an imagination as wild as her mousy blonde curls. "Monsieur Lefite was walking in one of the halls by the dressing rooms after a performance when everything was very dark," Meg said. The ballet brat's eyes were wide with fright. "He was there because he wanted to congratulate Carlotta on a grand performance. So as he was walking he heard a noise, as if someone was talking to him. It was a very lovely voice, but terrible all at once. The voice was saying "Go away Lefite… you should not be here," Well Lefite threw the bouquet of roses he had brought for Carlotta at her doorstep and tore back to his carriage outside of the Opera House!" Meg squealed. "He was scared he had been cursed!"

"It must have been the Ghost!" A ballet girl with auburn hair and an excitable demeanor whispered loudly.

"Yes, Yes!" Another said.

"Must have been!" Meg nodded.

"I suppose the Ghost dislikes Carlotta as much as we do. That's why he didn't want Carlotta to have guests or well-wishers." Christine said quietly. The girls turned to look at her in surprise that she had said anything at all. Usually she did not listen to the stories they whispered to each other about the Opera Ghost.

"That must be it!" Meg nodded. "What clever girl you are Christine," She smiled sweetly at her friend. Other girls chorused their thoughts out loud. The whole scene quickly escalated volumes from whispered tones to loud shrieks.

"GIRLS!" Madame Giry's voice rang out across the stage, the sharp crack of her staff echoed all around them. They immediately quieted. She shook her head at them. "What shall I do with you!"

"We apologize Madame Giry," A girl whispered dropping her eyes to her pale pink ballet shoes and hose. Other girls murmured their apologies.

"I'm sure you are," Madame Giry said with false calm. After meeting every girl with her eyes she began speaking once more. "Begin from the top ladies, I expect since you have been talking so much you, you already know the routine perfectly," The girls stifled groans.

Christine's legs ached from the endless practice they had that day. She sank into the steamy hot bath she had drawn for herself. She heard Meg and the other girls outside the door to the baths discussing the unfortunate event that had taken place during their practice. One of the girls had twisted her ankle and could not perform for several weeks. They believed the Opera Ghost had cursed her for exclaiming that he was not real. They were very superstitious little ballet rats. Christine tried to hurry through her bath, but found herself lingering in the hot water breathing in the scent of lavender soap. A few candles burned illuminating the darkening room. What a day! Madame Giry had worked them harder than she had in several months. There was only two weeks till the performance of Hannibal. Christine was quite nervous that she wouldn't be able to concentrate on her actions during the dance, she was afraid she would get distracted by the sea of faces beyond the stage. She finally willed herself to get out of the comforting bath waters, and once she had dried herself she pulled on a dressing gown. The ballet girls grew quiet as she exited. Trembling Meg intercepted her before she could go any farther beyond the hall.

"Christine, are you well?"

"Why yes Meg," Christine smiled weakly.

"Even mama commented to me that you looked pale today,"

"Oh must be the lights on the stage,"

"We both know that mama could see right through that excuse Christine Daae," Meg patted her shoulder.

"I'm just tired Meg," Christine said trying to put an air of confidence in her voice. The way Meg's compassionate blue eyes swept over her, Christine knew she wasn't convincing her friend.

"Well I will see you in the morning then, my dear Christine," Meg smiled. Christine tried to make her eyes look bright as she passed her friend to go to sleep, but weariness was seeping through every pore of her being. As soon as her body was underneath the blankets, and her head was on the pillow, she fell asleep…


	2. A Simple Walk

A/N: Not much has been changed to this one. But I do love going back and tweaking everything! Your reviews or comments would be lovely as usual!

The rosy light of dawn fell across Christine's bed. She slowly opened her eyes. A delicate brown curl had come to rest on her shoulder during the middle of the night. Her soft pale skin glowed in the gentle light of the rising sun. The window's dusty curtains were drawn back to reveal large glass panes that let the lovely light of the sun in. Christine smiled. A slight noise of someone stirring in the doorway of Christine's bedroom caused her to turn to see who made the sound. Meg stood daintily watching her from the threshold of the door. She wore a pale pink dress that made her look even smaller than she was.

"You country-girls are all alike," Meg giggled. "Never to miss a sunrise."

"It is glorious even if it is half as bright, hidden by the hazy fog of Paris." Christine sighed.

"Silly girl," Meg laughed. She entered Christine's tiny room, and sat on the bed beside her sleepy friend.

"If I am silly for being awakened by the sun at this hour what are you? You're up early for a city girl!" Christine said smiling wearily.

"Oh the girls are _still_ sleeping, and I am dreary of sleep." Meg said off-handedly.

"I wonder why they are sleeping." Christine hid her smile. After Madame Giry's practice last night she didn't know how Meg was standing!

"They do chatter so," Meg grinned looking back out the door. That was an understatement. Christine slowly slipped from her bed and pulled on her dressing gown over her nightgown. The little ballerina's gasp of surprise as the dressing gown slipped below Christine's shoulder. The sunlight suddenly seemed harsh upon her flesh. "…You are so pale...I didn't realize…" Meg said softly. Christine said nothing, but merely nodded. She had always been pale, but after her papa's death she had started to look like a walking ghost. As though the sun would never be able to warm her skin again, or heart. "I know! We shall take a walk! The exercise will do you good." The sudden change of emotion in Meg's voice startled her. She didn't feel quite up to a walk at the moment.

"Haven't you had enough exercise Meg?" Christine asked opening her small mahogany wardrobe to search for a fresh dress.

"Never," Meg smiled. "Besides Mama will not call for another practice for hours!"

"Oh Meg…" Christine sighed not knowing how to get out of the request.

"I'll be waiting for you outside so we can take our walk!" Meg smiled. She hurried out the door and closed it behind her. Christine shook her head and pulled on a dark blue dress. The dress was trimmed in cheap lace, and the bodice was drawn in tightly as in accordance with the latest fashions. Meg had given her the dress as a present nearly six months ago. She put her curly brown hair up into loose bun, a few unruly tendrils escaped framing her face softly. She placed a matching silk shawl around her shoulders, and slipped soft shoes on her feet. When she finally opened the door a few minutes later Meg was there waiting as she promised, tapping her toes impatiently.

"I'm so tired." Christine whispered honestly.

"I thought country girls always got up and met the dawn." The dry tone in the little ballet brat's voice was quite humorous to hear.

"Meg," Christine smiled and shook her head. "I'm a city girl now, goodness!" She matched her friend's dry tone with her own air of sarcasm.

"Ah." Meg muttered, not being able to find a better response. They headed down the hall of the ballet girls quarters and opened a door that lead out to the main hall. They then headed down the stairs and wound their way through halls and doors to the stage.

"Why are we here?" Christine asked suspiciously. Meg smiled that irritating little smile and merely headed up the steps onto the barren stage. A few kerosene lamps were burning dimly lighting the stage, they were left by careless stagehands who had spent all night working on backgrounds for the production of _Hannibal_.

"I love the smell of the Opera!" Meg sighed as she headed center stage. She spread her arms out taking her shawl holding it out dramatically all the while singing a few lines 'Think of Me'.

"Bravo!" Christine clapped. Meg had a lovely voice, it was meek, and lack confidence, but it was lovely all the same. Christine looked her friend over. It was strange Meg had not been married off yet. She was young, only seventeen, but she was beautiful. Her lily-white shoulders bore the grace of a ballerina, and her mousy blonde curls set off her blue eyes like they were pieces from the sky. Her eyes were also considerably wide and innocent-looking. Christine smiled as Meg imitated Carlotta. She began strutting around the stage muttering things in Italian.

"If your mother ever caught you…" Christine laughed.

"Oh mama is not around when there are no ballet girls to order around!" Meg laughed looking down at Christine who was still standing in front of the stage not willing to walk up the steps. "Come up with me! You shall be our next Prima Donna!" She imitated Monsieur Reyer's irritating voice making Christine laugh even more. She had not laughed in a very long time. Too long.

"Come! Come!"

"No, no. Not I." Christine shook her head.

"What are you talking about? You have a lovely voice."

"But I do not have the confidence to face the people sitting out in the audience. What if I hit a wrong note?" Her voice was beginning to show her panic.

"Carlotta hits them all the time, and the audience still loves her!"

"I hit what?" A voice washed in an Italian accent met their ears. A harsh pink blush spread up Meg's face like fire.

"Good morning Carlotta." Christine turned to face the large Prima Donna. She hoped she could stall Carlotta long enough for Meg to think of an excuse.

"Good morning…uh… vat was your name again?" She asked stiffly.

"Christine...Christine Daae,"

"Si, part of the bumbling chorus group." Carlotta smirked. "Now little Giry what did you say I hit?"

"You hit…all the right notes that's why the audience…loves you." Meg said through gritted teeth. A sickly sort of smile, that one would usually see on a crocodile, spread over Carlotta's mouth.

"They love me!" She walked up on stage with her customary waddle. The large woman was wearing the color of canary yellow with gold trim around the sleeves and hem. Her brown hair was piled atop her head and looked as if it had been piled on her head for several years it was so stiff. Christine wouldn't have been surprised if she dyed her hair with the fancy powders they were selling in beauty parlors in Paris. "Si they love their Prima Donna!" Her operatic voice rumbled out her mouth. Meg was trembling with fright.

"And why wouldn't they?" Christine lied. She had to do something, anything to get Carlotta to stop breathing down Meg's neck. Carlotta turned to face Christine.

"Si, there is no reason why they vouldn't. I am beautiful and I can sing!" With that she started singing the scale. If she had gone any higher on the scale almost surely would have broken the stain glass windows in cathedrals around Paris. Their mouths were open in shock, but Carlotta took that for awe. She finally turned back around to face them. "Vhat are you still doing here? I must practice! Out! OUT!" She shouted. "I must be ready and I can not practice with little ballet rats in here exclaiming over my greatness!" Meg and Christine hurried away and finally stood panting in the lobby by the grand staircase.

"Exclaiming over her greatness! More like almost fainting in horror!" Meg whispered fiercely, she was still quite scared of their encounter with the Prima Donna.

"Oh Meg! I almost died when I heard her voice!" Christine leaned against the banister of the grand staircase.

"Me too!"

"But I must say after seeing her up close you did do a fine job with your Carlotta impression."

"You'll ruin my concentration! I must sing vithout interruption!" Meg imitated the bumbling Prima Donna making both of them break down laughing once more.

"Oh Meg," Christine shook her head. "You're right I did need a walk."

"I told you." The ballet girl did a half mock curtsy and accidentally backed into a gentleman who was striding purposely around the corner. He caught Meg awkwardly around the waist before she fell to the ground. "Monsieur Reyer!" Meg breathed as the elderly gentleman looked down at her.

"Mademoiselle Giry!" He practically shoved her away from him as if she was a piece of dirt.

"I am so sorry! I was just…." Meg faltered.

"She was just practicing part of our routine because I am a bit behind she was showing me how it is done," Christine interrupted. Dear Mercy! What trouble would Meg get them in next?

"Well then try practicing on the stage and not on the grand staircase at nine in the morning," Monsieur Reyer reprimanded. He proceeded to walk off down a hall leaving little Meg trembling even more. Christine thought that for a new manager he seemed quite rude.

"My," Meg breathed. "I don't think I shall be taking walks anymore…"


	3. More Rumors of the Opera Ghost

A/N: I do not own POTO, I have taken many details from Gaston Leroux's book. I hope you enjoy it. Don't worry Christine shall meet her Angel of Music soon… and then the romancing will begin! R&R…

I love you not only for what you are,

But for what I am when I am with you

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning -

Christine again dressed in her slave girl costume for the Hannibal rehearsal that afternoon along with the other girls. Meg had almost recovered from the fright she had received that morning. Carlotta had not yet forgiven her for some unknown sin that she believed Meg had committed against her. She kept shooting ugly glances at her.

The ballet girls again stretched out and began to practice some of their routines. Madame Giry had not arrived yet, which was strange because as Meg had said her mama would not be far away from a group of ballet girls to order them about. Meg held order over the girls till her mother did arrive. The mood was surprisingly subdued even for the ballet girls and Madame Giry. The ballet mistress appeared pale and unsettled by something. Her voice sounded distant. Her staff did not hit the floor more than three times that practice. But the fire reappeared in the ballet mistress's eyes when she found Christine staring at her. She was then quickly singled out by a rather angry Madame Giry after practice to discuss her, in a word, deplorable dancing skills. The girls went on ahead leaving Christine to assure Madame Giry that her dancing would indeed improve before Hannibal opened to the public of Paris, France. Needless to say Madame Giry was quite put out with her.

The girls gathered around Meg after practice by the ballet dormitories on the forth floor to discuss their favorite subjects; The Opera Ghost and the wealthy young (and old) patrons. They murmured to each other, an occasional shriek of terror was heard. No doubt that group was discussing the Ghost. But then shrieks and screams were quite normal especially in the ballet dormitories.

"Any news about the Ghost, Meg?" Little Jammes flitted over to the group.

"Shh! Jammes!" A girl cried. "There's been another development!"

"A new development! How delicious!" Jammes squealed.

"Well…yes…" Meg said in a low voice.

"She was just about to tell us some news she has been holding back from us."

"Imagine Meg holding back a secret!" Jammes giggled.

"Hush Jammes!" A rather irritated Sorelli added. Jammes gave a rather pouty look in the direction of Sorelli who shot back a glare.

"Go on Meg!" They pleaded all at once. Meg gave a secretive smile. She glanced over her shoulder and motioned for them to follow her into the room she shared with Jammes. She shut the door behind her, and the girls settled on the two beds still dressed in their costumes.

"Well…I probably shouldn't tell you this, mama would be very angry if she knew I had told you…"

"But you shall tell us anyways!" Rose said, excitement flooding every feature.

"Of course," Meg smiled again. The girls leaned in to hear as if she was going to whisper her secret. "None of you may tell mama that you know!" She made them swear on their ballet shoes. Their little ballet honor was important to them since it was really the only thing they owned.

"Well I have known this for a very long time, but in fear of mama I have not told any of you."

"Oh stop baiting us Meg Giry! Go on tell us!" Jammes cried gripping the hem of her costume with white knuckles. The girls nodded.

"Please Meg!" They echoed. Christine was walking by the door of Meg's room at that instant and when she heard shrieks of the ballet girls she decided to listen in for whatever was exciting them must be important if they were shrieking so loudly.

"Very well!" She held up her hands and waited for a pause in the commotion. "Mama has been taking care of the Boxes as you well know. They are very expensive, because they have a good view of the stage and so only the rich can afford them. I know you say what does this have to do with the ghost? Well one box in particular has the highest priority in mama's mind. It is Box 5 on the grand tier next to the stage box on the left. Why? It is the Opera Ghosts private box!" Meg exclaimed expecting bedlam to break out, but only soft gasps were heard among the superstitious ballet girls. They were in shock. A ghost having his own box in the opera house? Surely the managers wouldn't stand for it! "My dears when I heard this from my mama's own mouth I almost fainted. Well mama says that the ghost ordered that the box never be sold!"

"Oh Meg you're telling us truly!"

"You wouldn't lie?" They chorused different things all at once.

"No, I do not lie." Meg assured them.

"Well how about during practice we sneak off to see if the ghost has been watching us!"

"NO!" Meg said suddenly. They all turned to look at her.

"What do you mean?" Sorelli asked haughtily.

"It's just that…well…the ghost doesn't like to be disturbed…" Meg stammered.

"We wouldn't disturb him!" They chorused.

"You wouldn't see anything anyways! Why is it so important to you?" Meg asked in despair.

"But you said that Box 5 is his box? Why wouldn't we see anything?" Jammes asked.

"Because mama says the ghost comes, but there is nobody there."

"How would your mother know?" Rose asked.

"Because she hears his voice, and she leaves him a program for the Opera. He attends every one…" Meg said proudly. Christine slowly backed away from the door. She had heard the important details and now the ballet girls would just shriek and jump about, proclaiming that the ghost was real. This was news to her. She had never known that the ghost watched the performances. She shuddered at what he thought of her performance. She hardly ever got the choreography correct. She found herself tripping over her own feet. He must think her useless and was probably demanding her being fired from the chorus group right now. She hurried on to her small room and shut the door trying not to think on what she had heard.

Christine did not fall asleep quickly that night even though she was quite exhausted. She lay in the dark, her head on the pillow, contemplating what her friend had said. The Opera Ghost was coming up more and more in their discussions. Was it true or false? Christine didn't believe in ghosts. She believed in angels. Her father had often spoken of angels. One in particular that he spoke of was the Angel of Music. She remembered sitting on his knee listening to him tell stories about that Angel. She would sit mesmerized on his knee and hear his deep soothing voice echo in her mind. Angels! He said that at one time in a musician's lifetime they are greeted by an angel. It could be when they are old, or when they are just babies. His gentle gray-blue eyes sparkled when she asked her childish questions about that Angel. Christine prayed she would meet her Angel of Music. Maybe it would soothe her soul after mourning so much over her father's death. Whenever her Angel of Music came she hoped that she would be ready to do whatever it asked…


	4. No One is Ever Alone

A cold wind whipped up, whirling around Christine up on the roof of the Opera House. They had no practice for Hannibal today since it was a Sunday, and even Madame Giry had some sense of religion. They were given Sunday off as a day of rest. That did not stop Meg from wagging her little tongue with the other girls. Christine had, had to escape from the chatter. It was evening already and she had been on the roof for several hours just staring down at the streets of Paris. Somewhere in the distance a church bell tolled the hour. The sky was cloudy so she could not see the sky. She wrapped her thick shawl around her shoulders a little bit tighter against the cold. She shivered. She couldn't leave the free air of the roof to go back down the closed in dark Opera House. The dark frightened her.  
  
"I am lonely Papa," Christine whispered. "My birthday has come and gone and no one has remembered," She said forlornly. Her birthdays with her papa had always been so gay and a big affair. They had been very poor, but that had never hindered them. Her papa had always found a way to get her a treat of some kind. Maybe it was a ride on a kind pony lent from a farmer, or a bit of cookie from the baker of a village they visited. This was a lonely birthday compared to the others. She looked down at the streets of Paris, the merry lights of candles shone through the windows. Did everyone in this city have a joy but her? Even from high above she saw children heading home with their parents to their carriages. They looked happy. Where was her family now?  
  
"Papa I miss you," Christine said softly. The cold wind rushed around her face. She knew her hair was probably in a mad mess of tangled curls by now, but she didn't care. She lifted the hood of her cloak down and let the wind have full reign with her curls. "I will never forget Papa," She said looking at the cloudy sky searching for the moon. "But I fear I shall forget the little things like the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled, or they way your smile was a little uneven," A tear found its way down her cheek. She brushed it away. "I will always remember the song you taught me," She smiled sadly. "You sang it to me when mama died when I was only two," She began to sing softly.  
  
The little stars shall never be alone in the sky for the good Lord gave  
them the moon to watch over them.  
  
The lonely flowers were given the sun to keep them warm and happy under his  
watch  
  
No one is ever alone  
  
No one is ever truly alone  
  
The gentle waters of the rivers were given currents to guide them  
  
Man was given woman to love so that he would never be alone  
  
A lamb has a shepherd to guide it  
  
No one is ever alone  
  
No one is ever truly alone...  
  
There were many more verses, but she did not remember them. She used to sing the first verse back to her papa when he was sad or tired. They had a wonderful life together, and lived like wandering gypsies at fairs. She sang while he played the violin, and by doing this they earned their living. She remembered she used to wear her favorite blue dress all the time, and her papa would sing to her the legend of the lady in blue. They would laugh and laugh about such things. Oh how she missed him. "Papa...papa," Christine whispered to the wind. "Send my ange of musique, my angel of music. I need comfort! I am drowning in my own tears of grief!" She cried. Tiny tears slipped down her cold pale cheeks. "Your Christine needs you!" She rested her head against the railing. Tears rained down her cheeks. Thunder boomed in the distance. She raised her head just in time to see the first flash of lightening. She regretfully retreated just as the first few drops of rain gently splashed at her feet, mingling with her tear stains on the floor of the rooftop. She slowly retreated back into the darkness of the opera house. She did not see a pair of warm golden-yellow eyes staring at her form as she returned to her home.  
  
"Christine," A voice whispered as if testing it on his tongue. "Christine..." 


	5. Angel Of Music

There was only one week until Christine would have to face a sea of faces staring at her from the audience. She had never had trouble with nerves before, but now they were taking hold of her. Ever perfect step she danced in the ballet was hard fought and seldom won. Madame Giry gazed at her disapprovingly from the corner where she watched them on stage. Christine tried not to concentrate on her, but on not fainting right then and there.

"Think of anything," Christine said to herself silently. "Think of something lovely. As long as you do not look at Madame Giry all will be well," She danced the steps. They were not perfect, but they were not as shaky as usual. "The sky! Think of the sky. The beautiful blue sky that is graced with creamy white clouds," Christine thought. Meg was giving her a particular glance.

"What's wrong?" Meg mouthed as she twirled about. She had seen Christine's pale features.

"Nothing," Christine mouthed back. Meg gave her a disbelieving look, but then smiled softly at her friend as if saying; "Fine then, if you don't wish to tell me than you can have it your way." Christine desperately tried to keep time with the music that was being played by the piano. She could no longer see the bright blue image that she held of the sky in her mind. All she could see was Madame Giry stomping up the stage and coming straight at her.

"CHRISTINE DAAE!" She shouted. The piano music ceased and the ballet girls shrank back behind Christine. Meg gave her an apologetic pat on the arm. "Come here at once,"

"Yes Madame," Christine whispered.

"The rest of you may go. We'll begin practice again in an hour," She said. Christine slowly walked over to where Madame Giry was standing. "Come with me," She compliantly followed. They walked down off the stage through the winding sets of hallways until they were by the dressing rooms. Madame Giry pushed open a door to a deserted room, and allowed Christine to enter first. This dressing room was obviously not in use, because things were slightly dusty and no make-up or perfume lined the vanity table. An enormous full length mirror stood in the corner. Madame Giry gently pushed Christine into a nearby chair. "My dear," Madame Giry began. "I have been talking to Monsieur Poligny and Monsieur Debienne the retiring managers about your dancing. They feel as do I that your career should not be in dancing," She said softly. She was trying to be as gentle about this as possible. "Therefore my dear, you will perform in Hannibal, but that will be your last performance with us as apart of the chorus," Christine gazed up at Madame Giry wide-eyed.

"But Madame Giry, winter is coming, and I have no family to go back to," Christine said trying to stay calm. Tears were beginning to cloud her vision.

"I know my dear, we have arranged for you to take up residence in a small flat just around the corner. I myself will pay for the first two months rent to help you on your way," Madame Giry explained. "Until you can find a job else where,"

"Thank-you Madame," Christine whispered. What would she do all alone in that little flat all day?

"Christine, I do not wish to do this. You have fine form, but until you keep your mind unclouded from…outside interferences you will not excel. I know the death of your father has been very hard on you,"

"Yes," Christine said softly.

"I hope you do well in life, and if you are ever in dire need of help you may seek me out," Madame Giry said. She quickly hurried out of the room shutting the door behind her, leaving Christine once again orphaned and alone.

"What shall I do? What shall I do?" Christine whispered. The tears were falling rapidly down her face now. She turned towards the vanity table, and lay her head down in her arms upon it. "I shall forever be alone," She cried. Her brown hair became undone from its bun, and the curls swept freely down her back. She knew she was wrinkling her Hannibal slave girl costume, but she did not care. "Oh papa, where are you when I need you the most?"

"Do not cry, child," A voice said softly by her ear. She turned quickly to see who was there, but it was no one. Had it truly been her imagination?

"Who is there?" She called. She was trembling.

"It is your angel," The voice said soothingly.

"My angel?" Christine's breath was caught. Her Angel of Music! Could it be?

"Your song has called me down to the lowly place called earth. I have come from the heavenly places to bring you comfort," The voice was warm yet terrifying in her ear.

"But I have not sung," Christine said. For it was true she had not sung anything. Wait…yes she had. Many nights ago she had been on the roof. She had sung the soft lullaby-like song to the silence. "Oh, you were on the roof of the Opera House that night weren't you?" Her question was met with silence. She was probably pestering him or annoying him with her questions. He was a heavenly-being unaccustomed to the ways of the earth. "When will you be with me my Angel?"

"Soon…" The voice faded from the room. She savored its last echoes in her mind. The voice was so comforting and yet so horrible. How could one being possess those two things? This thought terrified her. Could one being be both shadow and light?

The next night Christine was more wary about going into places in the Opera House were more than just a few shadows lurked. She jumped at the slightest noises, and her voice seemed unnaturally high to the other girls. Why was this angel or ghost scaring her so? Meg had confronted her about why she was so pale and shaky that day. Christine had given a soft answer that she was going to be fine. Meg then proceeded to launch into a discussion with her about the ghost of the Opera. She said she wished she could hear the ghost's voice, and if only she could go seek him out. Her mama would be angry with her if she attempted such a feat. Christine was still uneasy about the thought of the ghost. Had it been the ghost trying to trick her in the empty dressing room only a night ago? Was it the ghost playing the part of an angel to lure her into his home called hell?

Christine knew she should have told Meg about her being fired from the chorus group. Her friend would have immediately burst into tears, and demanded that Christine beg Madame Giry to let her stay. She would whisper to Christine that she could not live in the dark Opera House without her. Christine couldn't take more tears or weeping. She had shed enough. As she danced she watched Meg laugh happily with her friends over in the corner while Christine and some of the other dancers who needed more practice were continuing to dance.

After their practice Christine still dressed in her Hannibal costume, decided to face her fears. If there was a ghost who loved the opera, maybe he was watching their practices from his box. She slowly climbed the stairs to where the boxes sat, high above the stage. She did not tell Meg where she was going for fear her friend would talk her out of it. Her papa said it was always the wisest thing to search out your fears and not let the darkness scare you. She walked purposely down the dark hall towards Box 5, and when she reached it she stopped outside the heavy curtain that was the doorway into the box. Her heart almost went into her throat when she heard voices murmuring in low tones inside the box.

"Well done Madame Giry," A dark sounding voice said. If this was indeed the voice of the ghost Meg had described than she was correct about how smooth and utterly intoxicating it sounded. Christine started. That voice sounded familiar.

"I do my best Monsieur," Madame Giry said softly.

"I have placed your payment in the usual spot, give this note to the managers," The voice said.

"Yes, Monsieur,"

"That is all," Christine heard footsteps, and she ducked into a nearby box behind the curtain waiting until Madame Giry had gone. When the older woman had indeed gone, Christine stepped from her hiding place, and went to inspect Box 5. It was empty! She pulled back the curtain to that infamous box only to find it barren. She trusted her own ears, she had only heard one pair of feet exiting the box. She felt around the velvet seats to see if she could find a secret latch or button to a trap door. There were no such things as ghosts! It had to be a man tricking Madame Giry! She looked at the great column that went to the ceiling. It looked innocent enough. She ran her fingers down it, but found nothing. She sighed.

"Papa, I did what I could. I searched out the shadows, but found no evil. When will my angel find me and lift me from my despair!" She whispered desperately. She took one last look around the empty box, and then exited it. As she was walking down the hall back to her tiny room by the ballet girl's quarters she felt like she was being watched. When she turned to see who it was, nothing but darkness greeted her frantic eyes. Her heart began to beat rapidly. Did she hear breathing? No, it was her own breathing that she heard. Did she hear crying? No! She was crying! Great warm tears slid down her face. She was tired of the darkness and shadows! When would the light find her? When would she be happy again? She longed to be happy again!

"Do not cry child," A voice whispered by her ear. It sounded like her Angel! She whirled around, but did not find anyone. She tried to make herself believe that it was her imagination. She rushed down the halls and steps trying desperately to run from the darkness that chased her.

"Leave me! Leave me!" She cried. Could the Opera Ghost and her Angel be the same being?

"Do not cry!" That same wonderful yet terrifying voice whispered by her ear. This time she did not turn as she rushed down the halls. "Your Angel will soon be with you,"

"Heaven save me!" Christine cried softly for she believed a demon chased her.

"Heaven with lift you up my child! I will give your voice wings!" The voice said. Christine rushed down the dark hallway to the safety of the lobby. The same pair of warm golden-yellow eyes was watching her depart…


	6. Return to Me

A/N: I have been considering how to do Erik's character so I'm very sorry its taken me this long to update! R&R...  
  
Christine did not sleep that night. The image of something hellish pursuing her down the dark hall had made all thoughts of sleep flee from her mind. Instead she read her little book of poems her papa had bought for her before he had fallen ill and died. The kerosene lamp was turned up to it's brightest to chase all the shadows of her small room away. Rain trickled against the windows, hitting the glass with a soft melodic sound. Then the thunder and lightening came into play. The thunder's might crashes combined with the lightning's bright flashes made it seem as if an entire symphony played outside her window that night. She shivered, and pulled the coverlet up closer to her body. She did not care for storms one bit. She frowned slightly. What was she not afraid of? Well she could name the things she was afraid of; Storms, the dark, being alone, dancing in front of an audience, and bees. She wasn't afraid of mice or spiders which was almost funny since most ladies she knew screamed and cringed at the sight of the furry little critters or the beautiful arachnids. She had a pet mouse once named Joie (which means Joy in English.) Her papa had caught it before it had been tortured to death by some spoiled evil little boys who had nothing better to do with their time but hurt something smaller than they. Joie had fared better once they had gotten her away from the hungry tabby cat the boys were going to feed her to. The little mouse had lived a long and happy life sitting on Christine's shoulder or in her palm. She later died from old age. Christine delicately turned a page of her book of poems. She wasn't really reading, she didn't even see the page in front of her. She was thinking about the voice she had heard. What did he mean? He had said he would give her voice wings. What had he meant? The thought puzzled her. Why had he taken such a liking to her? There were girls it seemed in the chorus and in the Opera House that were more beautiful than she. Why had he taken an interest in her? She had no special talents. She could not sing well enough to please even her own ears anymore. She had no special talent or particular love in ballet either. When Madame Giry had said she had nice form she was just trying to be polite. Christine sighed. Her troubles would be over soon anyways. She would be leaving the Opera House forever, soon. She would miss Meg, but not her dull life here. When she left she would be rid of this Opera Ghost haunting her every move.  
  
The next afternoon Christine slowly smoothed out the wrinkles in her Hannibal costume, and began stretching out with the other ballet girls. Madame Giry was watching them like a hawk over in the corner of the stage. Meg slowly inched her way over to her, trying not to attract the other girls' attention. Meg grasped Christine's hand and pulled her to the side of the stage that wasn't bathed in lights.  
  
"Mon Dieu...Oh you're hands are cold!" She exclaimed.  
  
"Yes," She whispered absentmindedly. Meg gave her the usual wary glance. "It's chilly in here don't you think?"  
  
"Well I suppose," Meg smiled thoughtfully at Christine's excuse. "I wanted to speak to you Christine," She glanced over her shoulder. "We haven't spoken in a long while,"  
  
"I am sorry my friend. I've been distracted," She let her eyes wander over the stage. The ballet girls were still giggling by themselves, and Monsieur Firmin had struck up a discussion with Madame Giry, probably about the Opera Ghost. Most of the girls now considered Madame Giry an expert on the ghost, although they would never tell her that they thought so. They had after all, sworn on their ballet shoes that they would never tell Madame Giry about the details Meg had revealed to them.  
  
"Christine! Your letting your mind wander again," Meg whispered in her ear. They were both looking around the vast stage. "Come with me while mama is distracted so we may talk,"  
  
"If you wish it," Christine slowly followed her friend. They ran off the stage and into the lobby. Meg led her through a series of hallways until they reached a familiar door. Christine stiffened, but still followed Meg through into the dressing room.  
  
"What is amiss?" Meg queried anxiously looking back at Christine and seeing her pale face.  
  
"Why nothing," Christine smiled faintly. She gazed around fearfully. The room was the same. "Why are we talking here?"  
  
"Oh, I love this room. It's so quiet and it looks quite haunted! Don't you agree?" Meg shivered with fear as she took in the dusty room.  
  
"Quite," Christine barely nodded. She gingerly took a seat in the same chair she had sat in only the night before.  
  
"I get goose-bumps every-time I pass by dark shadows, thinking that HE could be here!"  
  
"He?" Christine said numbly. She slowly brushed a curl away from her shoulder.  
  
"You must be joking," Meg said. She stared into Christine's eyes for a moment. "The Opera Ghost! You know..."  
  
"Yes, I know," Christine closed her eyes for a moment remembering how the voice had surrounded her and made her feel as if she was being bathed in the warmth of the sun, and yet had the voice had the quality of ice. She shuddered.  
  
"Christine you do not look at all well to me," Meg clasped her hand once more. The girl's eyes were wide with anxiety. Her blonde curls were not to be submitted to the confines of a bun and were beginning to come out of place. Her gracefully beautiful long neck and shoulders were tensed with worry.  
  
"I am," She lied softly.  
  
"I can not believe that is true, but I will continue to ask until you tell me the truth,"  
  
"I have not truly been well since papa died, Meg," Christine confided.  
  
"Oh my friend. What gives you hope?" Meg kneeled beside her chair on the dusty floor.  
  
"Hoping and praying for my angel,"  
  
"What angel?" Meg's child-like voice floated in her mind. What Angel? What angel indeed! Was she a fool to believe in such things? Christine had always placed her faith in the unseen. Her papa had instilled that believe in her when she was very young. But Meg's question brought doubts that were not intended to bring up these fears intentionally, but it did. Horror inched up her spine in an icy cold way. Dear Mercy! What if there was no Angel of Music, and the voice was truly demonic? She swayed in her chair. Meg's eyes grew wide in terror at her friend's sudden white pallor. Meg couldn't catch Christine before she fell off her chair in a dead faint. Meg's scream resounded in the room as she fell. Another voice spoke to her before all went black. It was the voice that haunted her in her dreams and even when she was awake.  
  
"I will teach you sing my Angel...return to me," He whispered. She shivered. The voice enveloped her in warmth and ice.  
  
"Please show yourself...," She said softly in her dreams.  
  
"Return to me..." The voice died. She let the darkness take her. She could take reality no more. Who was this Angel? It was the ever present question... 


	7. The Meeting of the Rose and the Mask

A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please tell me honestly what you think of Christine and Erik's first meeting. R&R...  
  
A sharp burning scent met Christine's nose. She tried to move away from it, but the smell followed her. She slowly opened her eyes. Meg, Madame Giry, and a strange man stood over her. She noticed she had been moved to a small couch. It was probably dusty. Her costume would need to be cleaned. Her hair lay in silky tangles around her. She realized she was still in the same dressing room. The thought struck her like a hammer.  
  
"Oh Mademoiselle Daae!" The strange man exclaimed. He took away the smelling salts he had placed under her nose. "You're awake," He was obviously a physician. Christine slowly sat up. She tried to pat a few curls back up into a bun, but gave up.  
  
"It's obvious she's awake, man. Anyone with any sense could see that," Madame Giry muttered angrily. Meg cringed at the sound of her mother's harsh words.  
  
"You scared me so badly, Christine," Meg whispered, clutching Christine's hand. She noticed that Meg was clutching a silky bundle in her hands.  
  
"I'm sorry," She said hoarsely. Her throat was dry.  
  
"I brought your shawl down from your room. You'll catch your death of cold down in this drafty Opera House," She let the soft bundle slide smoothly from her hands into Christine's lap. She wrapped it around her cold shoulders. "You're so foolish to go anywhere without it!" Christine nodded quietly. "What frightened you so? Why did you faint?" Meg asked softly. The French doctor checked her pulse, glancing over at Meg with a shake of his head. He was probably wondering how Madame Giry ever bore such a wide-eyed creature from such a dark personality.  
  
"Do not pester her, Meg Giry!" Madame Giry said glaring at her daughter. "Young ladies are such excitable things, it could have been the subject that you were discussing that made her so anxious,"  
  
"You mean talking about the Opera Gh...," Meg rushed on to finish her sentence, but Christine shot her a warning glance. She fished around for another word to use. Certainly saying the word Ghost would frighten her mother. "Uh...Opera Gold," Meg said clumsily.  
  
"Opera gold?" Madame Giry said suspiciously.  
  
"Yes, the gold we keep, to pay the chorus, and the... other singers," Meg was drowning in her own lake of words.  
  
"Well...I suppose if you do not need me any more Madame Giry I shall be off to tend to the sprained ankle I heard wind of before we came," The physician said clearing his throat.  
  
"Of course," Madame Giry said curtly. "Come Meg,"  
  
"But mama, Christine may need me to stay around," Meg said helplessly.  
  
"I doubt it. Having you around is like a following plague," Madame Giry exited the room. Meg exchanged a sad look with Christine.  
  
"She doesn't mean those things," Meg said hanging her head slightly.  
  
"I'm sure she doesn't," Christine said trying to comfort her friend.  
  
"Well I best go. I will check on you later tonight?"  
  
"Very well,"  
  
"Are you sure you don't need help to your room?"  
  
"I'm capable of moving my own two legs," Christine said half smiling.  
  
"Meg Giry!" Madame Giry shouted from the hall.  
  
"You'd better go,"  
  
"I suppose so," She sighed. Christine patted her friend's hand. Meg walked dejectedly from the room. The door was shut. Christine locked it. She needed time to think. She sat back down in the chair by the vanity table. Even though she was wearing her shawl she still shivered with cold fear. She hated the feeling of being watched. And that was the feeling she had now. She clenched her hands, and gazed anxiously around the room. She slowly walked towards the full length mirror. What a lovely mirror it was. It had etchings in the wood of what looked to be of Persian design. She ran her fingers down it. The wood felt comfortingly soft. She was gathering her courage. She would end this battle here and now. If there was a so called demon who pretended to be her angel, than he would flee if she mentioned anything to do with heaven or God. She clenched her hands into fists and closed her eyes.  
  
"Angel!" She called out. There was no answer. There was no voice. "Angel," She said again. She was beginning to believe she was going crazy. "I should lock myself up, I shall soon be a danger to myself. The voice is not real," She said aloud trying to convince herself. Her hands were shaking.  
  
He couldn't help watching her. She was so enchanting. Like no other woman he had ever seen. She could not see him, but he had a feeling she somehow knew someone was watching her. She had heart, he had to admit. Not many ballet girls' would have locked herself in a dressing-room and called out for the being that haunted her to come forth. He placed his hand against the pane of glass. He was standing behind the mirror only inches from where she stood. He could almost touch her if not for the glass. Oh what her silky curls would be like to touch...or her soft lips. He slowly shook his head. "You must not think such things," He said to himself. Must he always remind himself? What had drawn him to her in the first place? It was the way she spoke, the way she moved, and her voice. Oh what a lovely voice she possessed. It needed it work. To the most cultured music teacher she would be laughed at for even singing a child's lullaby. But it was something about the way she sang the song up on the roof of the Opera House that truly got to him. Never had he heard such passion in simple words. With a little work her voice would be the most beautiful voice in all of Paris. Her beauty was also what attracted him. She had a slender body with lovely curves. Her pale graceful neck and shoulders were framed by beautiful chocolate brown curls. Her eyes were pools of light, cerulean blue with a hint of violet. Where had she gotten such eyes? They were the most celestial eyes he had ever seen. Her smile was rare, but whenever she did smile it lit up an entire room. Her soft pink lips were now curved in an anxious frown. She was so beautiful. He knew that beauty was fleeting. He'd met many women with beauty and no heart. He knew this was not the case with Christine. Her name brought shivers to his body. Christine. "Christine," He spoke softly. He had decided they needed to be more formally introduced now that he had captured the girl's attention.  
  
"Angel?" Christine whispered. He wanted to beat against the invisible cage he had set around himself in his mind. He could not touch her. No matter how his flesh urged him to do so. He had fallen for this angelic creature. It would not do for him to go breaking all of the vows he had made to himself so long ago.  
  
"Yes, Christine," He said softly. He threw his voice so that she would not know that he stood behind the mirror. He was a master at such tricks. She turned, thinking that the voice was coming from behind her.  
  
"You said you would teach me," He almost winced with the forlorn longing she projected in her voice which was trembling. What had her life been like? What kind of life had she lived. Her voice sounded so haunted and so lonely. She reminded him a little of himself. Of what he had been as a child. Fate could rip away love and replace it with hatred in an instant.  
  
Are you ready to be taught?" He asked. Her eyes grew wide with realization. He could fully see her again. She had turned towards the mirror once more.  
  
"Oh yes, My Angel," She whispered reverently. "I've been waiting all my life for you to come," A brown curl had come to rest on her pale shoulder.  
  
"So have I," He thought to himself. "I've been waiting for you for to long," He said silently. He shook his head. He must concentrate. "Then I shall teach you to use your voice as you've never imagined," He said softly to her. Christine's shawl fell from her shoulders and slid to the floor in her shock. Tears were running down her cheeks. She must have spoken truthfully when she said she had been waiting all her life for this moment. She was incredibly silent, and yet her joy radiated through her eyes. She had an Angel at last. And so it had begun. He was the teacher, and she was the student. She was moldable, and he would turn her into the most successful Prima Donna. Her voice would be different than any of the shrieking Prima Donnas the Opera House had, had in it's past. Her voice would rival and go beyond that of Carlotta's. He would make that overly- large Italian toad fail in her climb to become the best. Christine would triumph. He would make sure that she did, by using any method he had to use... 


	8. Letters

A/N: I would love to know what you think! Please R&R it really helps me to keep going. I need constructive criticism! Thanks so much!  
  
Christine bent over a piece of paper that was lying on her writing desk in her small room. A quill was poised in her hand and the ink pot was close to her wrist. The page was blurred to her by the tears in her eyes. She would give this letter to Meg after the performance of Hannibal, and then she would leave. She would forget the silly notion of voice lessons with a man or angel she could not see. She would leave and that would be the end of everything. She blew carefully on the ink of the letters she had carefully shaped. Her script was flawless and graceful across the page.  
  
_My Dearest Meg,  
  
I have been contemplating how to write this letter for a very long time. You have been my friend and companion for many months since I came to the Paris Opera House, and I would like to take this time to sincerely thank you for your generosity and friendship. You have helped introduce me to the world of Opera as gently as one may possibly be introduced to the harsh reality of life. I shall miss you my dear friend. I feel I must reveal the reason for my departure before you hear it from anyone else. I have been discharged from the Opera House ballet chorus by the new managers and your mother, Madame Giry. I simply can not concentrate anymore on my form and steps so I am being sent away to a flat your mother graciously has offered to pay the first two months rent on. It is just around the corner I am told and you may come visit your lonely friend anytime you wish. I shall have to acquire a kitten to suit my needs for friendship, although the kitten and I will never be as close of friends as you and I.  
  
With all my heart,  
  
Christine_  
  
"Oh Meg," Christine sighed softly. Her friend was in for a rude awakening. Christine would be gone before she even opened the envelope. There would be tears that she was sure of. She thought of her Angel. It had been only a few days since she had first truly met him...well that is she met his voice. He had told her to arrive in the dressing room in the early morning each day until the opening of Hannibal. Somehow she knew that her Angel knew she had been let go from the chorus. Why was he so persistent and forceful that she met him every day when all this training for her voice would go to waste? She had never met a voice teacher like him. His practices for her voice were so unique, but they worked. She was beginning to enjoy her times with him. Her Angel was such an intriguing being to be around. He did get sharp with her many times, but she had deserved it for doubting his genius with the voice. Such progress she had made. Her voice sounded strange and new to her whenever she sang. It gave her shivers down her spine. What kind of magic did this angel wield?  
  
He had not given her his name yet. He delighted in having her believe in the myth that he was her angel. Not the Opera Ghost, but her Angel. She would learn soon enough that he was neither Angel nor Demon. Let her be happy for now in this child-like dream. He lingered in the shadows of Box 5. Madame Giry was supposed to come by to pick up his latest letters to the new managers who were set to take over the Opera House the day of the newest production of Hannibal. A dark smile crossed his lips. The managers would soon learn their place just as the old had. His first letters to Firmin and Andre assured the fact that they would learn quickly. If they didn't...well they had been warned of the consequences. He glanced at envelope sitting on the shelf that Madame Giry checked everyday for new letters for the managers. The address was written in red ink. Only it wasn't ink. It was his blood. That would be enough to convince them of the seriousness of the matter. The letter would serve its purpose well. It welcomed Firmin and Andre to the Opera House, and let them know of his salary. He told them to remember to not give Box 5 away for it was his private box, and it also reminded them of his dislike for disobedience. If they were the men he thought them to be he knew that even when they had only read the first line of the letter they would be shaking in their cheap boots. Something stirred in the heavy curtain that served as the door to the box. Madame Giry appeared and went straight for the little shelf. She picked up the letters and slipped her salary into a hidden pocket in her black taffeta dress.  
  
"Merci," She said softly to the shadows. Even though she could not see him, he dipped his head in his most gentlemanly fashion as she left. 


	9. Apollo's Lyre and Fears of Tomorrow

A/N: R&R! Thanks to those who have already reviewed! You really help me to keep going!  
  
Christine wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and turned to get a better view of Paris from the Opera House roof. The cold wind whipped her dress roughly around. Her cheeks stung from the winter air. It would most certainly snow that night. Her nerves were getting the better of her again. When that happened her whole body began to shake unbearably. She felt the only escape was to come out to the open air of the roof. She knew that HE could be watching her, for he had told her that he had his ways of keeping his eye on her. She shuddered again. The golden statue of Apollo and his lyre loomed menacingly over her. She ripped her gaze away from it and turned back around to stare at the grey low hanging clouds that were most defiantly filled with snow.  
  
"What a city of romance you are Paris...but not for me..." She said softly. Her lips curved into a soft smile. "But not for me." She whispered. She would die alone as she had lived...alone. Her Angel had given her some sense of comfort, knowing she had a companion at least for a short time. Hannibal showed to all of upper-class Paris tomorrow night, only a few short hours away. She was horribly terrified of going on stage. What if she froze in front of all those people? She would never find work again. Her face flushed with a scarlet blush. What if that did happen? Would her Angel leave her forever? The thought made her shiver even more. Small flurries of snow fell lightly against her cheeks and nose. She shook it out of her thick curls. They had one last practice right before the opera started. It was her chance to make whatever little improvements she could add to the routine before her fate was sealed.  
  
"Keep faith," She chided herself for giving up on things before tomorrow night.  
  
"Faith," A voice whispered. She whirled around half expecting someone to be behind her. She dismissed it for just her imagination. In her heart she knew it was more than that. Her Angel must be watching her right now. She stiffened and tried to think of other things, but her mind was crowding her with so many worries at one time that she simply closed her eyes.  
  
"Come Christine, you can deal with this better," She whispered to herself. "Keep hoping," She said aloud.  
  
"Hope," There the voice was again. She hurried away from the roof hoping she could leave her Angel behind her. She must get away from shadowed eyes. She hated this feeling of being watched. She was right about being watched, for if she would have turned as she fled the roof she would have been given a clue of who haunted her. A pair of golden-yellow eyes now shone above the Apollo's statue that he had been hiding behind.  
  
Christine stared idly into her mirror in her room. She was fully dressed the next day for the practice they were to have before Hannibal. This time she had taken great care with her appearance. It was whispered that the new managers would come and be introduced to them, and she wanted to make a lasting impression on them even though she was leaving. Not a curl was out of place. Her cheeks were brazenly deepened considerably in a pink hue of rouge that she had borrowed from Sorelli. She did not wish them to think her a skinny pale little china doll, but that is what she looked like. She tried to smile at her reflection, but she failed. Nerves were taking over once more. Her lessons this morning had not gone well. Her Angel was frustrated over something. She could not think of asking him what was amiss. She knew she would get the reply; "I shall say nothing my lovely one, because talking of my heavenly problems will just make you faint with fear that the earth with crumble," He always said when she asked him. He had a tone that made her think he was half-smiling. She trembled just thinking of him. Oh how he made her feel as if her heart was soaring. She longed to get more of a tangible look at him. All she heard was his smooth sweet voice. It would have to be enough to satisfy her enough for now. She set down a pin that she did not need for her hair, her curls were all in place now in the bun she had carefully fixed. Her lips had been smoothed with a bit of balm that Meg had given her as a gift. She knew how the winters took the color from her lips. She straightened her shoulders and then walked out of her room, smoothing her costume to get the wrinkles out, as she went out to face the world of the Opera... 


	10. The Newest Prima Donna

A/N: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or the Think of Me song. I am so fond of the musical that I have to use some of the songs from it! I have also looked at the book and will be combining details from both. R&R...  
  
"Christine! Look over there!" Meg pointed in an excited whisper. "Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre are standing right there by the Roman column," She grinned.  
  
"Oh," She nodded nervously. She wiped her sweaty palms against the silky material of her costume.  
  
"Relax! They will love you! Besides they don't care about us ballet girls. They only care about..." Meg began, but then was cut off by someone.  
  
"Carlotta!" Sorelli filled in coming up along side them. "The rotten Italian Prima Donna. We know! We know!" She threw her hands up daintily in an expression of utter exasperation. Christine watched as the new managers observed them from the side of the stage. The last minute preparations were being finished on the sets and the costumes for the extras. The costume mistress Madame Vinci was still sewing bits of fabric into place on those who played minor roles such as servants or slaves. Madame Giry stood nearby looking stonily at them as if daring them to make one wrong step in their routine. Sorelli turned to scold a girl for bumping into her. The poor girl promptly burst into tears as Sorelli practically bit her head off for being clumsy.  
  
"Come we had better finish stretching," Christine whispered, her gaze flitting over to Madame Giry who was now truly casting her eyes about looking for a trouble-maker. "It's better to look busy with your blessed mother around,"  
  
"You're right," Meg smiled and bent down to stretch. Christine did this also, but kept sneaking peeks at the new managers. She let her gaze travel up to the gold embellished boxes. She tried not to stare at Box 5, but she did. She shivered slightly. She wondered if the Opera Ghost would be watching their practice. Most likely he was. Her eyes searched the darkness of the box, but she could find nothing. Black blended with shadow. "Christine," Meg whispered nudging her. Andre and Firmin were walking that way. It was interesting how two men could seem so different standing next to each other. Monsieur Andre was a short portly man with a grin that could crack a walnut. His blackish grey hair stood in stark contrast to his bright red hued cravat. His demeanor was excited and anxious. He kept looking all around trying to take everything in. Now Monsieur Firmin was a different story. He was tall and thin and stood about two feet higher than Monsieur Andre. His hair was blonde with a great deal more grey thrown in than his friend Andre. His clothes were either grey or black nothing was colorful about him. His mouth was set in an unattractive thin line. He walked with a rigid stride over to the giggling group of ballet girls.  
  
"Good evening Madame Giry," Monsieur Firmin greeted the ballet mistress.  
  
"Good evening Monsieur Firmin, Monsieur Andre," She dipped her head while the men did their own set of short uncomfortable bows. The managers looked over the group of excited young ladies. "I trust you have read the letter which I gave to you," Madame Giry said stiffly. Her dark eyes swept over them disapprovingly as she watched their faces register with pale looks.  
  
"R...Read?" Andre stuttered.  
  
"The letter," Madame Giry replied sternly. "That's what you do with letters...you read them," She muttered non-humorously.  
  
"Now see here Madame Giry!" Firmin interjected. "Know your place,"  
  
"Excuse me, sir," She dipped her head again. "HE will be very disappointed if you have not read the letter,"  
  
"We have read it! Haven't we Firmin," Andre was shaking. Firmin looked quite pale himself.  
  
"Yes," Firmin nodded. He was glancing around as if half expecting the Opera Ghost to appear.  
  
"Well? He will soon be expecting his salary, sir,"  
  
"And we will pay it...I suppose," Firmin answered his eyes flitting over to Andre.  
  
"Of course," Andre said nervously twisting a handkerchief in his hands.  
  
"He has made himself quite clear," Firmin smiled weakly.  
  
"I'm glad you think so," Madame Giry said morbidly. Her look was obviously spooking them, for their faces became even more pale. Firmin half-guided- half-pushed Andre forwarded past Madame Giry. They stopped to chat with some of the girls. Andre shamelessly flirted with Sorelli who in turn smiled delicately at him. Christine heard Meg snort softly.  
  
"He'll find out she's a ruthless conniving tiger under all that rouge!" Meg whispered.  
  
"Well that's the fun of it now isn't," Christine smiled. "Watching him find out that tiny detail after he falls for her,"  
  
"That's one way to look at it," Meg said smiling watching Andre give Sorelli his handkerchief as a gift. Unfortunately, Christine knew something Meg did not. She knew that she would be gone by tomorrow and would not be able to see the relationship unfold. Meg would have to watch the fun by herself. Christine sighed softly.  
  
"I am so sorry to be late!" A voice soaked in an Italian accent accosted their ears. All eyes turned to see Carlotta strut in and step up the stairs onto the stage. She was already in costume with a gold tasseled shawl thrown around her shoulders for good measure.  
  
"Ah the Prima Donna," Christine heard Madame Giry mutter.  
  
"La Carlotta!" Some of the ballet girls whispered excitedly.  
  
"Oh Monsieur Firmin! Monsieur Andre!" Carlotta said breathlessly with feigned surprise. "I did not see you!"  
  
"Sure she didn't," Meg whispered fiercely to Christine.  
  
"Gentlemen, let me introduce you to our Prima Donna," Madame Giry said stepping over to where they stood. The Prima Donna's hair was still curled and placed horridly up upon her head. A bit of color and facial powder was mixed on her face, and her lips looked painted on today. Andre smiled pleasantly to her and roguishly bowed. He had now found his newest love. Christine noticed Sorelli was now pouting in the back of the group of ballet girls.  
  
"It is a pleasure to meet you my lady. We have heard so many great things about you," Andre gushed attaching himself to her doughy arm. Firmin smiled stiffly.  
  
"Er...yes," He said. "So many things," He wasn't as enamored with the Prima Donna, but he did respectfully bow to her. Carlotta blushed a hue that shamed Andre's red cravat.  
  
"Carlotta!" A booming voice greeted their ears. Carlotta turned to find Ubaldo Piangi coming towards her in full costume. "Where were you my love?"  
  
"Oh Ubaldo, forgive me," She said stiffly to him. Then she turned back to see Andre glaring at Piangi thinking him competition. "I am very sorry I was late today. My servants have decided to be incompetent as a whole," She whacked a skinny man who was holding her large bag with all of her belongings. He cowered in fear rubbing his sore forehead all the while. "Especially this one," She said in a wounded tone.  
  
"You'll find the servants of the Opera House to be more than competent my good lady," Firmin comforted her.  
  
"Here Carlotta let me hold it for you," Piangi smiled boldly and took the large bag from the servant. "You bumbling idiot! You don't know how to serve one as great as my lady!"  
  
"Please," Andre said stepping forward and taking the bag from him. "You'll wrinkle your costume. Piangi glared at him.  
  
"He's right Monsieur," Madame Giry said trying to break up a brewing fight.  
  
"Carlotta," Andre said his voice was strained as he struggled to keep his grip strong on the heavy bag. "Won't you sing something for us, let us be the first to hear your aria before tonight!"  
  
"That is a splendid idea," Firmin encouraged.  
  
"Oh I couldn't"  
  
"But you must," Piangi smiled broadly.  
  
"I can not! I do not wish to spoil my voice before tonight!" Carlotta said her tone again held the air of a frightened little girl. The broad lady was anything but.  
  
"Please my dear lady," Andre begged. "It would bless my ears just to hear you,"  
  
"Oh Monsieur you are to kind,"  
  
"Isn't he now," Firmin muttered.  
  
"Very well. I shall sing," She smiled, her blush still lingered making her face look as if she had been drinking too much. This was probably not far from the truth. The pianist turned to look at the Prima Donna flipping his music to the correct page. She gave a heavy nod, and the pianist began the song two bars ahead of where she would begin singing.  
  
"Think of me," Carlotta began. Her words were filled with little embellishments. Christine cringed inwardly. "Think of me fondly when we've said goodbye!" Carlotta continued her song, oblivious to the looks of obvious disdain from Christine and Meg. Were they the only ones who weren't blinded to the fact that Carlotta sounded terrible? No. A shadow in Box 5 watched them. Christine was not the only one wincing at the wrong notes.  
  
How dare they let that peacock strut the stage like that! He was most displeased. He had only held off on demanding her be replaced because he knew her time would come when she would be revealed for what she truly was. A fake jewel may sparkle, but over time its glow begins to fade and it begins to crack. He smiled darkly. It was time. Christine was ready. He would reveal her to Paris, and she would be loved by all. Carlotta would not stand in the way of Christine's obvious talent. The Opera Ghost would not allow it.  
  
"Remember me once and a while, please promise me you'll try! When you find that once again you long to take..." Carlotta was abruptly cut off. A heavy curtain suddenly ripped high above them and landed hard directly behind her missing her by only a foot.  
  
"Oh!" Carlotta gasped and dramatically flung herself into the nearest man's arms. Firmin looked rather embarrassed as he stiffly cradled the heavy Prima Donna in his arms.  
  
"Madame!" He protested. "Are you well?"  
  
"Am I well?" She asked opening one eye in frustration that no one was going for the doctor to aid the fallen Prima Donna. "No I am not well! I was almost killed!"  
  
"It was the ghost!" Jammes shrieked rather loudly.  
  
"That's right! It must have been the Opera Ghost!" Another ballet girl screamed.  
  
"Now please ladies!" Firmin sputtered. "Quiet!" He slowly let Carlotta slip to the floor. She looked up at him with an irritated glance. He did not know that once ballet girls begin shrieking they do not stop for a long while. He looked around in dismay.  
  
"SILENCE!" Madame Giry's voice rang out as her staff stuck the floor loudly.  
  
"Gracious," Andre breathed in shock.  
  
"Thank-you Madame Giry," Firmin said. The stern ballet mistress gave a quick nod and then went back to scolding the ballet girls for being loud.  
  
"How did that happen!?" Andre yelled. Firmin turned to look at his friend in shock. Andre had never once raised his voice. "Carlotta was almost killed," If Firmin had any doubts they were all erased. His friend was in love. He was playing the part of the handsome knight in shining armor rescuing the sweet beauty of a damsel in distress. Only Andre was no handsome knight, and Carlotta was not a sweet beauty. No. Andre was an old fool, and Carlotta was overly large dramatic Italian opera singer.  
  
"There's Joseph Buquet he'll know what happened," Madame Giry calmly pointed a sadly dressed man who was trying to leave with out being seen. "Come here Monsieur Buquet," She said her voice was heavy with disdain.  
  
"W...what?" He turned pretending he hadn't heard.  
  
"Come here Monsieur," Madame Giry said to him sternly.  
  
"Good evening," Joseph clutched his ragged hat in his hands. His breath smelled of liquor. He looked a bit like a slimy rat. His face needed a shave, and his clothes were covered in dirt. Carlotta looked at him in disgust.  
  
"Did you see anything strange up in the rafters Buquet?" She asked him.  
  
"No Madame, I wasn't at my post, I swear," He said warily. "It must have been the ghost who done it, because I didn't see no one go up there,"  
  
"Oh!" The ballet girls shrieked.  
  
"The Phantom of the Opera!" Jammes squealed. Meg squeezed Christine's hand anxiously. Her eyes were wide with the excitement.  
  
"Silence!" Firmin cried. He stomped his foot down hard on the wood imitating the sound of Madame Giry's staff striking the floor, but it didn't work. "For heaven-sakes be quiet!"  
  
"Hush!" Madame Giry said firmly. Her staff once again hit the wooden stage floor. Silence met their ears.  
  
"Finally," Andre whispered as he helped Carlotta stand.  
  
"I'm sorry Madame. I have heard that these "things" seem to happen all the time," Firmin said turning to Carlotta who was trying her best to seem innocent and frightened.  
  
"Si! These things do happen! All the time these things happen!" She said her voice building in volume. "Until you stop these things from happening I am leaving!" Her Italian accent was heavier when she was angry.  
  
"But my lady!" Andre protested.  
  
"Don't "my lady" me! I am in no mood!" Carlotta said grabbing her bag back from Andre. "Good day Monsieur and I do hope you find another Prima Donna before tonight's performance!" Her servant was bobbing at her side as usual as she huffed out. Andre gazed sadly after her as she left. Piangi was watching her leave as well with a horrified expression on his face.  
  
"Oh no!" Firmin cried. "We'll be ruined Andre! We have every seat booked!"  
  
"Calm down my friend! We will think of something!' Andre comforted.  
  
"What?" Firmin asked.  
  
"I don't know yet," Andre admitted sounding defeated.  
  
"Oh dear me!" Meg whispered. "What will happen now that Carlotta is gone?" Christine had no answer for her friend.  
  
"Christine Daae will sing for the part, Monsieur," Madame Giry suddenly spoke up. Christine whirled around to face Madame Giry. She began to tremble even more.  
  
"The chorus girl?" Andre and Firmin said at the same time.  
  
"Is there any other Daae?"  
  
"But Madame...!" Christine began, but Madame Giry cut her off.  
  
"She will sing for you. She has been well taught," Madame Giry said giving Christine a stern glare. How had Madame Giry known that she had been taking lessons? The thought was a mystery to her.  
  
"Ah what teacher have you studied under my dear?" Andre asked naming off some of the great voice teachers.  
  
"None of those sir," She replied faintly. Meg put a steadying hand on her shoulder.  
  
"What is his name then?" Firmin asked he was getting rather irritated with the soft spoken chorus girl,"  
  
"I do not know his name sir,"  
  
"For goodness sake Madame Giry you should no better than some how to spot talent. Why are you picking out such a girl who doesn't even know the name of her own teacher? He must not be very well known,"  
  
"Oh he is well known," Madame Giry said stepping up to her full height. "His name is Monsieur Ange,"  
  
"Well I've never heard of any Monsieur Ange," Andre said to a bewildered Firmin.  
  
"Why not, instead of questioning everything under sun, let the girl sing for you?" Madame Giry interrupted.  
  
"Oh very well," Firmin said harshly. "Sing for us then Mademoiselle Daae,"  
  
"Madame Giry!" Christine said softly. Her anxiety was taking over her again.  
  
"You heard the man Christine, sing," Meg whispered encouragingly.  
  
"I...I," She mumbled. She glanced back at Meg.  
  
"Imitate Carlotta's boldness, forget your meek self. You'll do fine," Meg smiled.  
  
"Very well," She whispered and stepped to the middle of the stage. She looked back at the pianist and nodded. "Same piece please," She said softly. Again he began the song, but instead of beginning two bars ahead like he had for Carlotta, he began only a few notes early. With a scowl he began to play. He obviously did not like it that the Prima Donna Carlotta had left.  
  
"Think of me," Christine began shakily. Firmin shook his head. "Think of me fondly when we've said goodbye. Remember me once in a while, please promise me you'll try," She tried to find inner strength. She thought of her papa, and the days when she had been happier. "And when you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free. If you ever find a moment spare a thought for me," She heard her voice begin to grow stronger. "We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea, but if you can still remember stop and think of me. Think of all things we've shared and seen, don't think about the things which might have been. Think of me, think of me waking silent and resigned, and imagine me trying to hard to put you from my mind. Recall those days look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do. There will never be a day when I won't think of you!" She was surprised at her own voice. She hoped it sounded as lovely in her hears as it did in theirs. Christine could not bear to look at anyone while she sang. She could not bear to see the looks of horror on their faces. She hoped her Angel would not be too unhappy with her failure. She was still trembling as she sang, but she tried to push through it and be strong for her papa, and for her angel. She finished the song strongly, and waited for the criticism from the managers.  
  
"Someone find that women a costume!" Firmin shouted. Christine looked up in surprise.  
  
"Hurry up! We still have much to do before tonight!" Andre added.  
  
"You've done it Christine!" Meg whispered happily into her ear. She led Christine to a nearby chair in the wings of the stage. Madame Giry passed them and whispered to Christine so only she could hear.  
  
"He will be pleased," Madame Giry said softly. Christine looked wide-eyed into the ballet mistress's face. So her Angel and The Opera House Ghost were one and the same! 


	11. The Angel's Praise

A/N: I am overwhelmed at the sudden response! Thanks for all the reviews guys! Oh and a special thanks goes to erikorlando'sgirl for filling us all in on the Lakers/Pistons game! Yay for the Lakers! I hope you all liked chapter 10. I think that is the longest chapter I have ever done for a story! Don't expect one just as long for a long time! I am sooo tired! Lol. I don't own POTO or the part about the doll. I can't remember where I saw that bit about the doll, if anyone on FF.net wrote it and can prove that they wrote it, I will take that part out immediately. So thanks for reviewing guys, and I hope you'll tell me honestly what you think about this next chapter... (Oh ya I forgot)...R&R!  
  
Christine gazed around her dressing room. Her new dressing room. She had been given the dusty room she had visited many times before. How appropriate. The Opera Ghost must have arranged it. She had placed her belongings in the room trying to make it feel a little less cold and harsh. The full length mirror still stood in the corner like it always had. She looked at her reflection. She had only been the newest Prima Donna for a night, and it was now the morning after her success. How were Prima Donna's supposed to look? She smoothed the soft silky violet material of her dress with her fingers out of habit. She had done her hair especially fashionably today since she would most likely have many visitors from the high-society side of Paris. Meg had lent her a pretty clip to put into her bun of thick brown curls. Roses scented her room. They were everywhere, on shelves, on her vanity table, and even on the floor. Their petals were spread warmly, blushing every conceivable color. She smiled softly as she looked at them. She looked through some of the cards that had come with them. The cards looked more expensive than roses themselves. One in particular caught her eye. It was a beautiful card, the cursive itself reflected that the person who had written it had thought deeply about what they were going to say. The curve of each letter was so seductive looking. Whoever had written it was probably very wealthy to afford gold paper and such a deep black hue of ink. The contents of the card was what startled her the most. It read;  
  
Mademoiselle Daae,  
  
I have found your scarf! I will return it to you soon... Until then Little Lotte,  
  
A Friend  
  
Christine gazed at it for a long while. Little Lotte. It was such a familiar and warm memory from her past. "Lost my scarf," She whispered. She had a feeling who the sender of the card was. A blush crept over her cheeks.  
  
She made a lovely picture sitting there among the roses. The Phantom sighed. He was again standing behind the mirror watching her. It was time to congratulate the newest Prima Donna of the Opera House. Maybe he would linger a few minutes more to admire her. He watched as she picked a card from a very expensive looking bouquet of roses. A shy smile flitted across her lips. He wondered who the card was from. He felt a tinge of jealousy in his heart. He would never be able to provoke such a beautiful smile from her even if she could see him. In a way he was glad that the mirror separated him from her. She would not be able to take the sight of him without fainting or worse. He had set up many walls around himself from the outside world. Not just barriers that could be seen, like the mirror. No. He'd set up mental barriers as well. He reached up and felt the silky white material of his mask. He frowned slightly. He did not wear a mask for vain purposes. He wore it to protect innocent people from dying at the sight of what lay beneath the mask. It was the first thing that he had ever gotten in life, even before clothing or love. His mother had been repulsed at the sight of the right side of his face which was twisted and hardly recognizable as part of a face. He angrily clenched his fists. Oh what a life he had lived just because of his face. He once again looked at the woman sitting daintily on a small silk couch. She was reaching for another a small book bound in brown leather. His hands relaxed as he watched her smooth movements. She had now taken a quill and was writing on a blank page. The temptation to step from behind the mirror and claim her forever to be his own was so strong that he had to look away for many moments. She must be kept in light for as long as possible. He would think of her for now, and not of his own fleshly desires. He would never violate such a lovely creature. Nor could he bear for her to be repulsed by his form, which he knew she would be. He himself was repulsed by his flesh. The right side of his face looked as if it had been created from a corpse. He shook his head slightly as if trying to clear his thoughts. There were many things in time that he would reveal to her, but never his face. Maybe he would soon reveal his name. Erik. It sounded so strange on the tongue. His mother had carelessly thrown any name she thought of first onto him such as; Monster, Demon, Creature of Hell. He had a name, which he constantly reminded her of when he was an innocent child. "Mama you can call me Erik," He would say to her firmly, trying not to weep after she had flung a familiarly grotesque name on him. She did not merely call him names. No she decided to do worse. Her beatings became a nightly terror for him. When the sun went down, Erik would scramble into a hiding place trying to escape his cruel mother who had clearly lost her mind. He had made a doll for her calling it "Erik." It was made from scraps he had found in her sewing basket. It was her perfect child. He had drawn a charcoal face on the doll that resembled a lopsided smiling face. He had learned how to throw his voice and make the doll sound as if it was talking. He had known his mother was going mad when she began to cradle the doll and kiss it every moment. She would never leave the doll alone. To make her happy he would make the doll cry so that she could comfort her perfect "Erik." He ran away from home when he was only seven, hoping that the doll's silence would remind her that she had a real son. He felt his eyes begin to cloud with tears. He again schooled his features. This was no time to think about the past! It was time to think to the future, and of the present. Besides, he had yet to congratulate Mademoiselle Daae.  
  
"Bravo on your great success, Christine." He said watching her head lift suddenly as she heard him. His smooth seductive tone gave her shivers.  
  
"It was you my Angel of Music that the glory goes to,"  
  
"I am not in possession of such a lovely gift the glory goes to you," He answered back. He saw Christine slightly turn thinking she heard him by her left ear this time. He watched as she carefully placed her diary that she had been writing in and the quill back into a drawer for another day. A pink blush crept up her cheeks.  
  
"I do not know what to say to such high praise that I do not deserve," She whispered.  
  
"Silence does not suit you my dear, talk of anything..." He said softly. She nervously smoothed invisible wrinkles from her violet dress.  
  
"I would rather you talk of celestial things than have a human trifle with the earthly, it would make your ears sore," She laughed anxiously.  
  
"Such an Angelic creature you are my dear, your voice would never make my ears sore," He gently reprimanded. "I see that all of Paris has sent to the florist for roses for the new Prima Donna,"  
  
"They are beautiful," Christine said gazing around her. She slipped a rose from a nearby glass vase and brought it to her face. The petals softly brushed her cheek. How he longed to be that rose at that moment.  
  
"Not as beautiful as you are," The Phantom thought silently. He did not voice his thought. He could not give all of his heart to her. Not yet. "I hear you have been set in place as the lead in the next opera that is if Carlotta does not return," He tried not to put a growl in his tone. That woman sang as well as a wet cat. He would make sure that if she did return and take the title of Prima Donna away from Christine that he would make life for her very difficult indeed.  
  
"Yes that is true," She nodded. "I am worried they have set the title on the wrong person,"  
  
"You believe that Carlotta would have been more suitable?" He asked carefully not letting her hear the anger in his voice.  
  
"No!" She said suddenly. "I mean, I do believe there are other opera singers that are more capable," He smiled at her. She had spirit. He watched her brush a curl back into her bun.  
  
"I'm glad you think so," He said softly. She carefully plucked a petal from the rose she was holding and rubbed it between her fingers. It probably felt like silky velvet to her. A knock resounded on the door to her dressing room. "Met me again here tomorrow, Mon Ange," She trembled at the thought of being able to once again hear his voice. He did not leave as he had led her on to believe, but stayed behind the mirror.  
  
"Come in," She answered trying to steady her voice. She watched as the door swung slowly open...  
  
A/N: I wonder who it is? Can you guess? 


	12. A Visit From an Old Friend

A/N: Thank you to the reviewer who pointed out that Erik's deformity is on the right side of his face not the left. I even have pictures of his face! Smacks forehead I cannot believe I got that important detail wrong! I need to take a nap! I fixed it so it now reads "Right side of his face." For those of you who guessed the mystery guest right give yourself a pat on the back, for those of you who guessed wrong, expect a Punjab Lasso (compliments of Blue Beauty) to be delivered to your house in the next fifteen minutes...lol (just kidding). Thanks for the reviews...R&R as usual....  
  
Erik watched from behind the mirror as the door to Christine's dressing room opened wide, and a young man barely the respectable age of twenty-five strode in calmly. Christine looked up surprised to see a man, she had originally been thinking it was either a maid or Meg. The man was tall, and broad shouldered. His light brown hair was stylishly long and slightly curly. His gentle blue eyes were warm. The smile he was giving her right now was equally as warm as his eyes. His jaw was square and handsomely firm. Erik looked on as Christine visually took the man's appearance in. His clothing looked expensive. He was dressed in a dark brown that made him seem even finer. His complexion was quite light as if he hadn't been out in the sun very much or if he had he always took to the shade or wore a gentleman's hat. He was holding a single blood-red rose.  
  
"Bonjour Mademoiselle Daae," He said rather breathlessly to her. It was as if he had been holding his breath for a long time. He looked rather anxious to be done with the introductions. He held the rose out to her, and she grasped it gently careful not to touch a thorn with her soft fingers. "I have come to bring you back your scarf," He said smiling handsomely.  
  
"Oh!" Christine said in a rather shocked tone. "My scarf! You were all wet! I remember it well now!" Her favorite scarf had flown from her when her and her papa had been visiting the ocean. It had been caught by a wisp of air, and dropped into the sea. A boy only a few years older than she had rushed out into the ocean much to the dismay of his nanny and captured the wet piece of silk back. He looked quite a sight, dripping from head to toe holding a limp scarf.  
  
"The sea does make one cold," He laughed warmly. She motioned for him to sit across from her in a comfortably cushioned chair. He sat and gazed at her. Something akin to jealousy once again moved in the Phantom's heart. He tried to unclench his fists. That rogue!  
  
"I still have that scarf, Raoul,"  
  
"I thought you would. It was a lovely scarf. It complimented your eyes quite nicely," His comment made her blush. She smiled softly. "I see no one has forgotten your performance last night,"  
  
"I suppose not," She said shyly.  
  
"It was absolutely beautiful," Raoul said. The blush on Christine's cheeks did not diminish, it only deepened more into a lovely pink hue.  
  
"I did not know you attended," She smiled softly.  
  
"I attend as many as I can. The opera is not something that I miss usually if I can not help it," He looked at her tenderly. "I watch for you each performance. You dance quite splendidly,"  
  
"Oh Raoul," She shook her head. "If it wasn't for my luck in winning the role I played last night I most surely would have been fired from the chorus group, for my "splendid" dancing,"  
  
"I noticed no bad form," He said sweetly. "Besides I wasn't watching your feet...I was watching your face,"  
  
"You are to kind," She said her voice barely louder than a whisper.  
  
"I have missed you though, Christine," Raoul said plainly. "I have not been to see you, because...well...because I was working up my nerve," His eyes traveled over her face. He searched for the right words. "How does one approach such... an angel?"  
  
"You hardly know me, my dear Raoul," Christine replied obviously flustered at such a confession. She could not hold his gaze, but instead she shyly stared down at her lap.  
  
"All one has to do is listen to you sing, or gaze at your beauty," Raoul reached out and touched Christine's hand softly. Her smile broadened. Erik wanted to cut the man's throat. Beauty or voice wasn't the only thing that someone should look for. He could find those things that in a beautifully crafted music box. Christine had beauty and a lovely voice yes, but she had more than that. She had grace, kindness, and a gentle spirit. He could think on about her sweet characteristics, but he did not want to miss her reply.  
  
"It is not until this moment that I have realized how much I missed you Raoul," She gently curled her fingers around his.  
  
"I'm glad you finally know it," Raoul smiled.  
  
"Do you remember all the stories papa told us?" Christine asked him eagerly. She gently took her hand from his and settled it back in her lap.  
  
"I will never forget them...Little Lotte," Raoul grinned. Christine closed her eyes in happiness. "Let your mind wander," He said mysteriously. She laughed.  
  
"He used to scare us out of our heads with those stories of his," She smiled.  
  
"Ah yes, the dark stories of the north,"  
  
"I could never sleep but a few hours in the morning after the nights when he told them. I was afraid I would have nightmares,"  
  
"I used to dream of his violin," Raoul admitted. "It calmed my nightmares,"  
  
"He was rather good,"  
  
"That's true," Raoul nodded. Erik listened intently from behind the mirror. Her father sounded intriguing.  
  
"He played so smoothly he used to put me to sleep with only a few notes of a lullaby at night when I was a child," She whispered her voice sounding very hoarse. She sounded as if she was going to weep. "When he grew melancholy he would play the _Resurrection of Lazarus_. Whenever he did play that piece I knew he was thinking of my mother for he once told me long ago that he used to play it for her before she died," A tear threatened to slip down her cheek. Raoul gazed at her compassionately.  
  
"I will never forget that," He smiled softly. "Your father was a good man, Christine. His memory will live on in our hearts,"  
  
"If only he had lived on to see this. To know his daughter wasn't destined to be miserable and sell flowers on the corner streets of Paris,"  
  
"You're a Prima Donna now, you'll be well paid,"  
  
"It's not the money Raoul," Christine replied hesitantly. "My papa was worried that I wouldn't be happy,"  
  
"You're happy now?"  
  
"I think I'm beginning to be," She smiled shyly. His blue eyes twinkled with a repressed grin.  
  
"I'm sorry to leave you Christine, but I must go. My brother Philippe will wonder where I have gone to, and it is not seemly for a young lady to be seen alone with a gentleman in her dressing room for a long while," He smiled. She gave him gentle look.  
  
"I very much appreciate your visit, Raoul," Christine stood, she opened the door for him and he stepped outside. He paused for a moment, gazing at her.  
  
"It will be my pleasure to visit you again if you so desire it,"  
  
"I desire it," She said softly. He dipped his head in a gentlemanly fashion and left. Erik said nothing when she closed the door. He watched her expression change from a polite smile to a look of bliss. She looked so very happy. He envied the Vicomte de Chagny. He possessed such charm and wit. He smiled darkly. Raoul would find that he wasn't the only one who hoped to win Christine's heart...  
  
A/N: I know that some of you are chanting KILL THE FOP! right now. Unfortunately he must be introduced in this story or there would really be no tale. I have to be fair to the story and to stay as true as possible to the musical and the book I must write Raoul as the man that he is described in these. R&R... 


	13. Revelations

A/N: Hey guys! It's been really quiet lately review wise, but oh well. I figure that everyone is on vacation except for me. I will keep writing! I would love for you to review me though; it really helps to know that people are actually reading this. R&R please...  
  
Meg Giry sat in a little café over by a bunch of colorful shops in the middle of Paris with the other ballet girls. They were not in their ballet costumes today, for it was their day off. Each wore brightly colored dresses, for one must always remember that even though ballet girls must dress in their ballet uniform of gauzy skirts and silky tights, that doesn't mean their dull or wish to dress that way all the time. Little Giry was again the center of attention as usual, she was sitting daintily and just as primly with her back and shoulders straight in good posture against the cream colored seat. They sat drinking their tea, and eating little biscuits.  
  
"Did you know that the Opera Ghost has a home beneath the stage?" Meg whispered, again as always sounding like a little conspiratress. Her eyes were bright and wide. Her rose colored dress did not improve her coloring, it only made her seem tinier and even paler than usual.  
  
"Really?" Sorelli said sarcastically. Ever since Andre's attempt to brush her off she had been quite mean in disposition and humor. Her temper was legendary among the girls, even when she wasn't angry for a particular reason. The red-headed girl's eyes would flash their steely blue at whoever was the culprit of awakening her temper.  
  
"Yes, really!" Meg said ignoring Sorelli. She focused on the other girls instead. They all were trying to be lady-like about how they ate their little cakes, but it was very hard not to woof down the bits of sugar that tasted like sweet air because they were so hungry from shopping all day.  
  
"Tell us what does he does to occupy his time alone, other than haunting the Opera House?" Rose asked sipping her tea. She was looking out the window watching snow flurries come down onto the dirty streets of Paris.  
  
"No one truly knows. There is a rumor though," Meg said leaning in, the others did the same, except for Sorelli who had closed her eyes as if to block out conversation. "Some say that he composes down there, that he has a violin and organ,"  
  
"Oh?" Jammes squealed.  
  
"Well haven't you heard the music coming up from underneath the floor?" Rose inquired. The girls turned to look at her in shock. Meg shook her head, slightly numbed.  
  
"You did?" Sorelli said her eyes opened quickly, her curiosity was now piqued.  
  
"Yes, is that...awful?" Rose asked quaking slightly. Her raven curls shook as her body trembled from the excitement. Her cinnamon brown eyes flashed with fear that the other girls would call her mad.  
  
"No," Meg said patting Rose in a matronly way on the shoulder. "Of course not,"  
  
"What kind of music?" Jammes asked wrapping her thick shawl around her shoulders more tightly. Even in the warm café it was still chilly to one as tiny as she.  
  
"Well, it was after practice one night about a month before we found out Christine Daae would join us in the chorus," Rose began. "I was alone, because everyone had gone to take baths or go to sleep. I had forgotten my hair clip, you know, Jammes the one Monsieur Damien gave to me after a performance he says the turquoise in it lights up my eyes," Rose said her face flushing with a pink blush. "I think he's sweet on me,"  
  
"Do we really care who is sweet on you?!" Sorelli interrupted loudly, causing Rose to jump slightly. "Come and tell us what happened!" She demanded. The other patrons in the café turned to look at their table.  
  
"But of course," Rose whispered, fright was etched in every corner of her face.  
  
"Now Sorelli, just because you're mad about Monsieur Damien liking Rose and not you, doesn't mean you should jump on Rose that way," Meg said. Rose looked surprised that Meg had spoken up for her. Sorelli turned her angry blue eyes of steel over to the slim ballerina.  
  
"Stay out of it, Little Giry," Sorelli muttered. The other girls murmured in excitement. Whenever a quarrel broke out there was bound to be fun!  
  
"Just finish telling the story Rose," A girl prompted gently.  
  
"Very well," Rose whispered. "I had just found my clip, it had fallen backstage. I headed back to the middle of the stage to go to the ballet dormitories when I heard the music of a violin, it was a beautiful sweeping melody. It was kind of melancholy," Rose said her voice sounded slightly distant. The girls looked at her in awe, captured by the thought. "It was so lovely that I lingered on stage for a moment before I noticed that a trap door was opened in the middle of the stage, and that was how I heard the music so distinctly. I looked down into the inky blackness down in the cellars underneath the stage," Rose's audience was listening hardly daring to breathe. Why had Rose not told them before? Even in the brightly decorated café everything suddenly seemed dark. It always felt that way when they talked of dark stories about the Opera Ghost. "I was so enchanted by the music I didn't even think about what I was doing. I....," Rose said, but before she could go on, someone interrupted her.  
  
"You didn't go down there did you?!" Jammes shrieked making them all jump. Meg grasped Jammes hand to calm her.  
  
"No," Rose assured them. "A hand clamped down on my shoulder before I could descend. Can you guess who it was?"  
  
"Madame Giry?" Sorelli snorted. "She'd be the one," Meg gave Sorelli a dark look, reminding them all of her mother's looks.  
  
"No, it was Joseph Buquet," Rose supplied.  
  
"Really?" Jammes said her eyes were wide.  
  
"He told me not to wander down by the Ghost's home, because the Ghost doesn't like unwelcome guests. He said many an unwelcome guest have come to interesting demises, such as being killed by the Opera Ghost's Punjab Lasso,"  
  
"Ah I have heard of the Lasso before," Meg nodded wisely. The other girls nodded also, pretending they knew exactly what she was talking about.  
  
"What is the Punjab Lasso, Meg?" Claire asked she was the youngest of the group. The other girls exchanged secret smiles with each other.  
  
"It is his weapon that he uses to kill people," Meg explained to the young dancer.  
  
"It's rumored to be made out of cat gut," Sorelli said darkly. Claire paled.  
  
"Oh," Claire mouthed.  
  
"Don't let her scare you, Claire," Meg leaned over and whispered to her.  
  
"Is what she said true? About the Lasso being made out of cat gut?" Claire asked.  
  
"It's rumored that is true," Meg whispered in her ear. Claire looked as if she was going to faint.  
  
Christine was sitting quietly on the small silken couch in her dressing room. She was reading book she had received as a present from one of her many well-wishers. Her head was tilted daintily, and her lips moved slowly as she read the words on the page. It was evening outside, and snow had begun to fall slowly across Paris. Meg and the other girls had gone out to shop for pretty hair ribbons and other items which a girl would love to possess. Christine had declined the invitation from Meg to go with her. The petite girl's face had fallen when she had told her no. She hated denying her friend anything, but she needed rest. So there she sat in the bright light of a near kerosene lamp continuing to read, not really truly enjoying the quiet evening. She was in deep thought. It disturbed her that Madame Giry had known about her voice lessons. How could she have? Christine had told no one about her meetings with the strange voice in her dressing room. How could she explain it sanely without people thinking she was mad? She had made up her mind that the Opera Ghost or The Phantom (as he was sometimes referred) and her Angel of Music were in fact the same being. He had obviously planned the evening of the performance of Hannibal out perfectly, knowing that with the drop of the curtain Carlotta would most certainly be spooked and leave. He had probably also told Madame Giry in one of their secret meetings (where she heard only his voice) to suggest to the managers that Christine Daae sing for them. He was obviously a genius, planning things out to the minuet detail. Where the curtain had fallen was just too much of an uncanny testimony to that fact. Carlotta could have been killed if the curtain had fallen a few feet closer to her. No, this was no madman's scheme. Whoever he was he was quite brilliant. He was probably also unaware to the fact that she had found him out. But had she? Christine shook her head, her curls settled back into place around her waist and shoulders. She bit her lip, a habit her father had always tried to get her to stop. She had quite willingly let herself get involved with this ghost who played her "angel." She was smarter than that. She frowned slightly, she had been so caught up in her grief that she had failed to be level-headed about the whole issue. She had loved the thought of someone taking an interest in her. She had not had a guardian or a protector in such a long time it seemed. She closed her eyes and thought blissfully of the voice. Every time she heard that voice she felt as if her heart had taken wings. It felt as if her feet barely touched the ground. Suddenly she didn't care if it was a lie. If that voice ever did leave her she would die with grief. It was a wondrous thing, to just feel emotion over a voice. She smiled softly. Oh, but what a voice it was! She quickly opened her eyes. A question still remained. Why had he taken an interest in her? Why? 


	14. Only a Dream

A/N: The words in _Italics _represent a dream.

"_Papa?" Christine said. She was sitting in the grass of a meadow beside her father. Her face was framed by daisies. They were in the country- side outside of Paris. It was their next destination. He was playing his violin beside her, something that resembled a Mozart piece, but with his own flair.  
  
"Yes, my dear?" He said while picking out notes to his next piece on the violin.  
  
"You once said that I resembled Maman," She said softly. Her father turned his wise eyes her way. She noticed that smile lines were beginning to grace his face around his mouth, and that his dark brown hair was slightly grayed in spots, especially on his beard.  
  
"I did at that my little one," He smiled gently. "Why do you bring up this now?"  
  
"Because...well, I've just been trying to remember what she was like. All I can remember is her perfume. It smelled like summer roses,"  
  
"She died while giving birth to you," Her papa said seriously. "I don't know how you would know this," His voice caught. She watched him study the trees and flowers around them.  
  
"I smelled it everywhere in our little cottage as a girl, Papa. Somehow I just knew I smelled her, like she had left a part of herself behind for us to remember,," Christine said earnestly.  
  
"I gave her that perfume two months before we married," He whispered. "When she would run out I would save up secretly to buy her a new bottle. They were so expensive that I had to work even harder to put food on the table for her, all the while saving up for that little bottle of perfume that smelled of summer roses,"  
  
"I'm glad I remember that," Christine smiled softly. A breeze toyed with her curls.  
  
"You have her eyes," He said slowly. "Those eyes," He sounded distant to her. "That's what I first saw when I met her. All I could think of was "Daae! You better not mess this meeting up or you'll spend the rest of your life alone!" That prompted me to be really gentlemen-like about everything. I opened the door for her, and I kissed her hand when I introduced myself,"  
  
"Oh Papa," Christine laughed. His eyes sparkled with the memory.  
  
"Yes little one, you have her eyes, and you possess her grace and love," He placed his hand in hers. "I will always love both of you,"  
  
_ "Papa!" Christine whispered jerking awake. She blinked several times. Where was she? Oh yes. She was still in her dressing-room on the small silken couch. She must have fallen asleep. It had been a dream! She felt so cheated! Her papa had been there! She almost felt his warm hand on hers. He seemed so real. She shook her head slightly. It would do no good to grieve over what had been lost, it would never return no matter how hard she wept. She noticed that her book had slipped from her hands and had fallen to the floor while she slept. The pages were slightly bent. She shook the book slightly to put the pages back to rights. Meg would probably be worried sick about where she was. How late was it? She turned and turned down the kerosene lamp until the flame flickered out. In the dim shadows of the dressing room could make out something foreign on the carpet by the door. She bent down to pick it up. It was the blood-red rose that Raoul had given her. It must have some how fallen from the vanity table she had so lovingly placed it on. Its petals were mussed and it looked as if someone had purposely tried to tamper with its beauty. She shivered and gazed around her dressing-room. How had the rose fallen so far from her vanity table?  
  
A/N: R&R...


	15. The Opera Ghost's Letter

A/N: I know that one of my reviewers pointed out in one chapter that I had said that Erik's handwriting looked childish. In Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera he states that Erik's handwriting looked childish so that's where I got that. Ok now the point. I have taken that line out of my story, and so now Erik's handwriting will be that of a well-traveled and well versed man in that of language. I just didn't feel like it fit anymore so I changed it. Also I would love it if you guys want to e-mail me with comments or questions at Bluebeauty875hotmail.com. So after that long explanation here's the next chapter...  
  
Christine encountered no one in the dark hallways as she made her way to her tiny room on the third floor that night. When she opened the door to her room she felt as though she had been immersed in the snow. Her room was freezing. She could see her breath as she inhaled and exhaled. She hurried out of her clothes and into her cotton nightgown. As she turned to pull back the cold covers she stood in shock at what she saw. She reasoned later that she might not have noticed it when she walked in her room the first time. A single rose lay on her coverlet. Only it wasn't a warm and glossy red color like Raoul's rose had been. It was a creamy white hued rose. Its form was brittle and icy to the touch. It looked as if it had been frozen, or plucked from the snow storm that was covering Paris right at that moment. It looked as if it had been made from the magic of winter. A small note lay beside it. It read;  
  
_**Mademoiselle Daae,  
  
I wish you the kindest greetings one could wish such a lovely Prima Donna. I pray this finds you in good health. I will disperse with other pleasantries which would only hinder the point of this letter and get to the point of why I have taken the time to write to you. It has come to my attention from one of my many sources that you have come in to contact with a young man. I believe you know to whom I refer, but I will state his name. This boy is indeed the Vicomte de Chagny or Raoul as some simply call him. I want to reveal to you how dangerous it would be for you to continue to see him. It is vital to your career that you focus only on music and your voice. If you continue to see him I will be forced to become unpleasant  
  
Your Obedient Friend and Angel,  
  
O.G**_  
  
The handwriting of the note was written in an elegant scrawl across the parchment paper. Christine looked closely at the dark ink. Something about it made her tremble. It didn't look like ink... It was blood! Christine bit back a scream. She clutched-white knuckled-onto the frame of her bed. Oh dear Mercy! What was devilry this? This note proved her fears. Her Angel and the Opera Ghost was indeed the same being. Her beloved teacher and friend was the Opera Ghost. Her frame shook with silent sobs. Tears ran down her face. She was terrified. Who was this man that ordered her to stay away from Raoul? Why was he controlling her in such a manner?  
  
A few days later Raoul was leaning against the wall trying to seem nonchalant about waiting for Christine. He was waiting outside the grand doors enjoying the beautiful voices that he heard exclaiming parts of the opera that they were practicing. Carlotta had still not returned, and it seemed that if all went well than Christine would be a grand and famous Prima Donna. He closed his eyes and listened to the strains of music that the orchestra was producing at the moment. Ah, the opera was a grand life to live. He smiled slowly as he fingered the petals of a rose he had bought for her before he had come. He straightened quickly when he heard the rustling of skirts and voices coming to the door. The door was opened quickly, and Raoul rushed to greet his beloved. He had to wait several moments to enter as the ballet girls exited along with several other performers. Once inside he looked anxiously around for Christine. Finally he spotted her after several moments. She was being measured for a costume by Madame Vinci up on stage. He saw her eyes linger over him for a moment, but then she looked down at her shoes as if pretending not to recognize him. Raoul was shocked at such behavior especially when it came from his darling Christine, who when she was a child never overlooked a single poor beggar child, giving them her lunch. What was he compared to a beggar child? Obviously nothing if Christine could not bear to look at him. He waited until Madame Vinci had finished calculating how many yards of silk it would take to create one of her magnificent creations for a Prima Donna, and when she had finally left he purposely strode over to meet Christine as she tried to slip away.  
  
"My dear Mademoiselle," Raoul called after her. She did not turn, but she stopped. Raoul stepped in front of her. "Good afternoon," He said smiling at her. Oh she looked lovely today. She was wearing a dark blue silk dress with sleeves that were edged in lace, a tight bodice, and a long skirt that reached past her toes and rested on the tips of her shoes. Her hair was done up in a bun, a tiny clip of a rose in her hair was the final delicate touch to her appearance. She looked beautiful to say the least.  
  
"Good afternoon sir," She did a small curtsey still not looking in his eyes. "I do hope you are well," She sounded like she was trying to hard at being polite.  
  
"Quite well," He grasped her hand and gently placed a soft kiss on her silky skin. She could not hide a blush that crept up her cheeks, but yet there was no other reaction. Was something wrong? "But I might ask the same question of you, Christine,"  
  
"I am well," She said slowly. Her voice was quiet and she sounded ready to be done with him.  
  
"This is for you. A rose for a rose if that's how the line goes," He said hesitantly holding out his gift of affection. She reached out and took it, but without feeling.  
  
"Thank-you sir," She whispered. Raoul was slightly hurt at her reaction. What happen to the charming woman he had met just the other night? She seemed weary and morbidly silent now.  
  
"I was wondering...that is if you want, maybe we could go to a lovely restaurant just a few streets down for lunch, you must be quite hungry after your practice. I would love to take you out, Christine," He said. He felt like a foolish school-boy trying to ask out the prettiest girl in school.  
  
"No, I am quite tired at the moment. I would be rude company," She said looking down at her hands. He was taken aback at her answer. Just a few days earlier she had said she would love to meet him again. What had happen since then?  
  
"Have I injured you in some way Mademoiselle?" He asked reverting back to her staunch way of communication.  
  
"No Raoul," She said suddenly looking up at him. Her voice was full of emotion. Ah, so there was a soul in the harsh façade she had put up. "You could never hurt me. I just cannot today," He was surprised to see how tired her lovely eyes looked.  
  
"Perhaps tomorrow?" He asked hopefully. Her eyes dropped back to looking at the intricate stitching on her sleeve.  
  
"No not tomorrow either,"  
  
"Christine?" He said slowly. "Do you ever wish to see me?" His voice showed his longing.  
  
"No Raoul I cannot," She whispered. She looked back up at him. "I can offer no good explanation," His heart felt as if it had been torn in two.  
  
"Very well, I will be here to see your next performance if you change your mind," He said trying to contain the agony he felt.  
  
"I don't think I will," She said turning her face away from him. He was shocked to see her trying to hide her emotion. She was longing to say yes!  
  
"Christine," He said gently tipping her chin so that he could look in her eyes. "Why won't you come with me?"  
  
"I cannot Raoul, but I do not admit that I would not want to if I could,"  
  
"What is holding you back? Are you engaged with another man at the present?" He tried to control his anger. It was not directed at her, but at the reason she could not join him.  
  
"No, I am not engaged," She said putting her hand on his arm when he dropped his fingers from her face. "Please trust me. There are things you do not know. It would be better for you if I do not come,"  
  
"My dear, Christine." Raoul said his voice was full of longing.  
  
"I must go, Raoul. Take care my friend." She said as she hurried away from him. Raoul watched her go sadly. He would convince her there was nothing wrong with just meeting each other at a lovely restaurant. He would come back everyday if he had to! As he was leaving he walked past the grand staircase. On the first step of the staircase lay a red rose. It was the rose he had given Christine. He gently rescued it so it would not be trampled. He breathed in the scent of his love who had held it to her heart only moments ago before she had laid it down lovingly on the step as one would lay a loved-one's coffin to rest in the dirt. She was saying good-bye to him! Raoul shook his head slowly. He loved her. He had always loved that angelic creature. Why was she doing this to him? He hung his slightly as he exited the Opera House...  
  
A/N: Read and Review!! 


	16. The Persian's Visit

A/N: I would love to know if you think I have gotten Erik's character correct. R&R and tell me what you think! Thanks to those who have already reviewed!

Erik let his fingers trail over the ivory keys of his organ. The keys felt cool to the touch despite hours upon hours of pounding on it the night before. He'd had to fight the urge not to touch his delicate violin for he knew that playing roughly on the gossamer strings would damage the priceless instrument. He'd taken his rage out on the organ instead. He had pounded out song after song until he slumped to the floor in exhaustion. Rage had built up in him because he knew he would never be able to capture such a smile or look of bliss that crossed over Christine's face whenever she thought of Raoul. Instead whenever she thought of him he knew a frown or a terrified look would wash over her features. Christine had been compliant enough with his order not to see the boy again. He had watched her gently tell the heartbroken Vicomte de Chagny she could not go with him on his petty outings. Erik knew in the long run this would help her to concentrate on her studies of voice and music. She would not dwell on some well-built handsome rogue, because she would no longer see him. But he had watched her at their lessons through the glass of the mirror and known truly in his heart that the girl was not happy with her current conditions. It would pass. He hoped it would pass.

Erik looked up and around his home beneath the Opera House in the fifth cellar. Priceless works of art that he had bought over the years hung straight on the stone walls in the music room. They were really the only splashes of color in his dreary world. He gazed around. His violin was perched on a mahogany shelf. The violin was beautiful. It was one of his most priced possessions. He'd had it made especially to suit his tastes. A small golden letter writing in a flowing script had been marked on the underside of the violin. It was the letter "_E_." Sheets of music lay cluttered everywhere, because he had long ago run out of room to store it properly. Only his life's work _Don Juan Triumphant_ was in one piece sitting neatly atop his organ. It was not yet completed. His opera was a brooding tale full of secrets, lies, and seduction. He smiled darkly. He worked on it sometimes for many days and nights straight without stopping to eat or rest. He ran a finger down the figure of a small marble statue he had acquired in Persia of a Persian maiden holding a rose. The maiden's flowing hair cascaded down her back. The fabric of her long dress pooled all around her feet, and clung to her figure. The rose she was holding was carved so delicately one had to be careful not to snap the rose off the priceless statue. The rose was beautiful its petals were unfurling to their full splendor. He gazed at it appreciatively. The expression on the maiden's face was something he had always been curious about. She was looking intently at the rose with a soft smile on her face, as if she was thinking of someone that the rose brought to mind. He shook his head slightly. The maiden had her own marble world to worry about, and he had his.

He continued on through his home making lists of what need to be done to improve upon everything. He slowly moved out of the Music room, and into his own large chamber. The color of the décor suited his mood. The walls of his bedroom were covered in black tapestries, over his bed hung a black canopy of silk, even his bedcovers were black. The material that covered the furniture was done in an expensive black cloth. Any wood such as the bed frames and the wardrobe for example were made from dark mahogany. Black. The color of death and mourning. How fitting that the color should grace his bedroom, for the right side of his face looked like death it's self. He shut the door tightly to his room, and continued on his self-guided tour through his home. The next room he came to was his bath. A deep tub made out of a dark marble sat in the middle of the large bathing room, a heavy wooden bucket sat at the ready beside the tub. A fountain which drew its waters from an underground pipe from his lake bubbled water in a gurgling fashion in the corner. When he did take baths he would fill the large bucket from the fountain which had its own purification system that he had designed to keep the waters clean. He would then take the bucket and set it on a metal plate of sorts which was already hot from the heat of the huge furnace that sat directly behind the wall of the bath. The metal plate acted as a channel bringing the heat of the furnace behind the wall to the bathing room. Although this process took a large amount of time it was better than going to the surface, walking on the streets of Paris in the middle of the night (so that no one would see him), and just striding right in to a public bath house to wash. Yes, this was a much better process. One thing that was strange about his bathing room was that he had no mirror in which to check his appearance. Well, it would be strange to outsiders. He had no need or want of a mirror. He was reminded time and again of what his face looked like. He saw the white mask gleaming back at him in the reflection of the lake waters, or in the metal of a spoon. No, he needed no mirror.

He strode quickly onward down halls and twisting passageways until he got to his lake. The lake was dark and deep. Many curious men had drowned in it. They all had wished to be the first ones to find the elusive Phantom. He had toyed with them. Some had died in the cellars that lay before his, some had died in the traps he had placed for men who got to close to what they were seeking, and some had died on the threshold of his home in his lake. The lake was several miles wide, and several miles deep. He had two boats that he used to go across to the shores of the other side. It mostly depended on his mood of the day. He had several passageways that led him to different parts of the Opera. The quickest way to the mirror entrance was across the underground lake. But there was more to the lake than there appeared. Something dark lived in his lake that only he could control.

"Erik," A voice called to him from the other shore. He knew at once it was Nadir the Persian. Erik walked over to the edge of the lake and gave one of the small boats a mighty push so that it was carried across by a current. When the boat finally landed on the other side Nadir climbed into the boat and looked hesitantly back at his friend.

"Have no fear my friend, the Siren is calmed," Erik said ignoring the look of unease the man was giving the water. Nadir himself knew of dangers of the Siren. He had once tried to cross the lake when Erik was not at home. Since there was no boat, Nadir had tried to swim it. Half-way across Nadir had stopped to hear the voice of a seductive creature that had risen from the depths of the lake to greet its prey. Nadir had gazed in wonder at the beauty of the Siren. She was apparently not clothed, but the dark murky water hid her body from view. She had long black hair which lay streaming water down her back. She swam gracefully towards him, and looked deeply into his eyes. Her face was only a few inches from his. Her long lashes framed her wide emerald colored eyes. He felt himself becoming sleepy. His body relaxed in the water. The Siren wrapped her graceful arms tightly around Nadir and had slowly without him noticing begun to sink with him. He was almost over his head in water before he noticed what the Siren was attempting. He struggled but to no avail, the Siren had him in an embrace of death. He took one last futile breath before he was totally submerged in the dark waters which had been the graves of so many others before him. His mind was spinning with despair. His breath was leaving him, and the strong need for oxygen filled his head. He released his breath only to suck in water. He felt his world going black. Suddenly the Siren's face twisted into a pained expression. She released him and quickly fled back to the depths. Nadir surfaced, coughing and throwing up large amounts of water that he had swallowed back into the lake. He swam wearily to the side of the shore where Erik's house sat buried in another set of passageways and traps. As he pulled himself up onto the stone shore he lay on his back with his eyes closed, breathing heavily. After a moment he felt the presence of another person. He slowly opened his eyes to see Erik looking angrily down at him.

"Next time you come into my domain think twice about coming uninvited! I might not be here next time to save you!" He had said in a voice which told Nadir that he was suppressing rage. And so he had not returned to visit Erik for over two months, for it had been two months since he had last been invited. Erik had sent a note through Madame Giry to Nadir, who lived nearby in a tiny flat in Paris telling him to come and see him.

"Good evening Erik," Nadir said as he reached the side where Erik stood. Nadir made sure the boat was secure in the rocks before leaving it completely.

"Same to you," Erik said curtly. He motioned for Nadir to follow him through a series of passageways to the Music room. It was the most comfortable room in his home. Nadir took a seat on a settee that was deep red.

"Is this a pleasant invitation Erik, or has something gone awry?" He asked uncomfortably, knowing that Erik's moods were unpredictable. Erik showed no signs of becoming aggressive at the moment. Instead he was leaning slightly against his organ, his body was relaxed.

"Nothing is amiss or out of place, if that is what you mean," Erik replied calmly. Nadir let himself breathe once more.

"That is good," Nadir nodded.

"Would you like some tea my friend?"

"No thank-you. You know how much I abhor your tea,"

"It's just a flavor that I enjoy. I picked up the habit of drinking Russian tea while on my travels, before Persia,"

"That brings back memories," Nadir said quietly. He was right. Just mentioning the word "Persia" transported Erik back into the past. He had been summoned there to entertain Persian royalty. He'd built things for their amusement. One of the things he had built there was a torture chamber for a rather eccentric princess. The torture chamber was elaborate. There were mirrors on all sides, and an iron tree stood in the middle with a Punjab Lasso hanging from a branch for prisoners who went insane to hang themselves. Lights reflected off the mirrors, making the torture chamber unbearably hot, and bright. The lights were more than most could bear. Erik had regretted building it for the princess who used it on innocent servants who had done nothing to deserve such a horrible death.

"I knew it would," Erik said. Erik had built a palace for the royal family of Persia, and after the completion he had been thrown into prison. They had originally wanted his eyes to be gorged from his face in order to make him permanently blind, so that he would never be able to construct such a palace ever again. Then they reasoned that even without his eyes he would still be able to create a more magnificent palace so they ordered Nadir (Erik's nickname for the Persian, which meant police-officer) a guard at the palace to take Erik out and kill him. Nadir by then had gotten to know Erik, and had no wish to kill him. So they both fled Persia. The royal family almost sent assassins after the pair, but after two days of their disappearance a body washed up on the shore in Erik's clothing. This was the work of Nadir's loyal friends. So Erik had escaped with his eyes firmly attached to his face, and with his life still in tact, along with Nadir.

"They think I killed you, you know?"

"Like you could," Erik smiled darkly.

"Exactly, but then they don't know that now do they?"

"No," Erik said.

"I still worry for you Erik," Nadir admitted.

"You worry too much, that is why there is already grey in your black hair, my tanned friend," Erik said humorously.

"I worry because I must," Nadir shook his head. He turned his head slightly admiring the paintings on the wall. His eyes traveled over to a stack of letters on a nearby table. They were addressed to Carlotta, and the Managers.

"You have been concerning yourself in affairs of the Opera House again?" Nadir asked cautiously.

"Is that so wrong? To wish things to go my way for once in my life?" Erik said following Nadir's gaze to the stack of white envelopes with the addresses done in blood.

"Erik," Nadir said pleadingly. "Drop this madness, just live the rest of your life out in peace here! You have everything you need, I will bring food for you. Finish your Opera and die in peace!"

"Dare you suggest that I just fade into history?!" Erik said sounding outraged. "I would waste away in boredom,"

"Is that why you concern yourself with the life of a certain chorus girl,"

"I do not have the slightest idea of what you are talking about Nadir," Erik said, his voice was warning him not to take the subject further.

"I have heard of what you have been doing with Little Daae,"

"And you have been spying on me again," Erik rose to his full height. "I did not bring you here to argue with me, or to talk of things of the outside world. What I do with anyone is not your business, it is mine!" He was barely controlling his temper. Nadir had only been in his home for a few moments and already he had caused chaos.

"I do not condone this manipulating of innocent girls," Nadir stood. He knew perfectly well Erik could kill him. He could see with his own eyes the famous Punjab Lasso hanging on a hook by the shelf that held the violin. He cared not for his own life, but that for others. When his son had died it had caused the world to mean nothing to him. Now the least he could do was to help humanity while he was still on the earth.

"You think I've touched her!" Erik roared with anger.

"Yes," Nadir said. "What would stop you?" He winced at his own bitter sounding voice.

"STOP ME?" Erik thundered. Nadir fought the urge to run. He needed to finish this and be done with it. Erik was his friend, and as his friend he needed to be told that this was wrong. "NOTHING! Absolutely nothing could stop me from having my way with her!" Erik tried to calm himself, but to no avail. He could not believe that Nadir would suggest such evil thing. "But I haven't Nadir! I haven't! I cannot touch her! I cannot! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

"Yes," Nadir said quietly.

"I care too much to touch her. I would never want to spoil such an innocent creature! My flesh longs for the touch I was never given, but it is better if I never feel it, for if I do I would not hold back," Erik said tenderly, he was thinking of Christine's slender figure and her rosy lips. She was so beautiful. He cared so deeply about her. He looked slowly at Nadir for his reaction.

"You love her," Nadir said in an incredulous whisper. Erik leaned once more against his organ for support. "I can see it in your eyes,"

"No," Erik shook his head. He had said too much. He couldn't love her. She had given her heart away to another. He couldn't live that way. He had lived that way all of his life! He had always loved, but not have love returned. He couldn't! It could not be true. He would not let it be true. "No," He said softly. "I've never known it myself, so how could I love someone?" Erik asked softly. His heart was breaking. Nadir looked at him compassionately. He knew Erik's past haunted him still. He knew that Erik had never been loved before in his entire life. This was probably agony for Erik. Nadir hurried away, knowing Erik needed time to think upon it. As he was leaving he heard noise erupt from the Music room. Erik was pounding the notes of his opera Don Juan Triumphant out on his organ.

"I am sorry my friend," Nadir said quietly. The mournful sound of the organ followed Nadir back across the lake and up to the surface. "I am sorry,"


	17. Alone

A/N: I do not own Phantom of the Opera (just a reminder, lol) Remember words in Italics in this chapter are part of a Dream Sequence. Oh and if your having trouble getting into the "mood" as my friend puts it when your reading my story (or any other Phantom Phic for that matter) try listening to The Phantom of the Opera. That should be your first choice (My favorite song on the full CD is "Past the Point of No Return" and the final scene song. You should also try Josh Groban (My favorite song of his is "Let Me Fall" or "Vincent" which is on his first CD simply titled "Josh Groban" or "My Confession" from his album "Closer") Oh and please excuse my bad French grammar, just remember to look at the emotion of the words and not the bad French grammar. Ok well all I have to say now is R&R...  
  
_ Christine winced as she heard her papa coughing harshly from his pallet behind the curtain. He had gotten the fever only a few days after they reached Paris. They had rented a tiny room in a dirty flat, where the rats and spiders were plentiful, and lice thrived. Their toothless landlady had asked for more than they were willing to give her, but they paid her anyway. Her papa had been to sick for her to haggle with the landlady. He needed a bed right away. For privacy's sake she had strung up a curtain in the middle of the tiny room between their two beds. It was the middle of the night and from what she could see out of her dirty window there were no stars shining that night, only clouds that covered the moon. He was coughing again. She shivered against the anxious thoughts that flooded her mind. He wasn't getting better! She slipped from her pallet, and slowly pulled back the tattered blanket that separated their "rooms." Her papa lay on his pallet gazing up at the rotting ceiling of their tiny flat. Another wave of coughs racked his weak frame.  
  
"Oh Papa," She whispered. She crawled over to his side, and took a damp cloth and began wiping his sweaty brow.  
  
"Marie," He lifted his hand weakly and gently brushed his thumb across her cheek. His eyes were clouded with fever. His forehead burned her hand when she touched it.  
  
"No Papa, Its Christine. It's Christine your daughter. Mama's gone," She almost choked on her own words.  
  
"Christine?" He frowned.  
  
"Yes, Papa!" Tears were forming in her eyes. He didn't know her anymore! "I am Christine, your daughter,"  
  
"You look so much like her," He whispered. "Your eyes remind me of her,"  
  
"I know Papa, you told me remember?" She said her voice quivering. He was dying on her, and they had no money for a doctor!  
  
"I used to buy her perfume," He said hoarsely through cracked lips. She tipped a water jug to his lips. Most of the precious liquid never reached his mouth, because his lips were so dry and the water slipped down his chin onto his night shirt.  
  
"I know," Christine whispered. She pressed the cold cloth onto his forehead once more. He broke into another heavy fit of coughing. His face was twisted in pain. "God help me!" She cried. Tears were streaking down her dirty face. "O! Dieu! Oh God!" Her papa was clenching the sweat cover sheets as the coughing continued. When the fit finally ceased, Christine dabbed his forehead with the cloth once more.  
  
"Christine! Christine!" His hoarse voice echoed loudly in the bare apartment. He struggled to get off the pallet. He was delirious!  
  
"Shhh," She calmed him. "I'm right here, Papa," She eased his head back onto the pillow. The fever was making him delirious. She was only a tiny fifteen year old girl, she could not hold down a fully-grown fevered man. "Je ici, I am here,"  
  
"Oh Christine, Marie is gone! She's gone!" He moaned. His breathing was labored, it sounded as if he was gasping for air.  
  
"Christine Daae!!" A voice yelled outside the thin wooden door. It was their landlady. Christine could see a kerosene lamp flickering through the cracks in the door.  
  
"Yes?" Christine said anxiously. She was trying to calm her unsettled papa.  
  
"Quiet up there! The others are complaining!" She yelled. Christine flinched at the harsh tone. Her father cried out at the disturbance.  
  
"What's going on??"  
  
"Nothing," Christine confirmed. "Oh please! Make her go away!" Christine thought silently.  
  
"Well keep it quiet!"  
  
"Very well," Christine called. She heard the landlady muttering curses under her breath. She saw the lamp's flame become distant as she retreated.  
  
"She's gone," He moaned softly.  
  
"Shhh, Marie's waiting for you," Christine's cheeks were wet with tears. "S'endormir papa, go to sleep papa. She will be there in your dreams,"  
  
"She will be?" He asked her. He was sounding like a child. The fever was making him lose his mind.  
  
"Yes, S'endormir," She smoothed his graying hair off his sweaty forehead. He closed his eyes, and his breathing became normal.  
  
"Je amour tu, mon papa. I love you, my papa," She whispered as he slept. She arranged herself in a more comfortable position as she kept her vigil over him. He had gotten so much worse since that evening. He was so pale. Where there had once been strength and vigor there was now listlessness and a sickly pallor. She clung to his hand. "You can't die papa," She cried softly. "I need you here," She watched his chest rise and fall. She laid her head against his shoulder. "I want to be your little Christine again, when I was young you always were there to protect me," She whispered. "What shall I do when you are gone?"  
How long she lay there she did not know. She heard the rain hitting the grubby window. The lullaby of the water hitting the pane lulled her gently to sleep...  
Christine woke up only an hour later. She rubbed her weary eyes, and winced as she moved her neck, because it was sore from her sleeping by her father's pallet on the floor. Her heart stopped in her throat as she gazed at her papa. For a moment she thought he wasn't breathing, but he was. She was relieved as his chest rose once more filling his lungs with air. She felt his eyes on her. He had been watching her as she slept.  
  
"Mon Christine," He whispered to her. Her eyes filled with tears. "Je amour tu, Mon petite Christine," Christine looked at him in shock. He knew her face again. He said her name!  
  
"Je amour tu, Mon papa," She said softly back not willing to believe that he was past the delirium. She squeezed his hand. But did this mean he was nearing the end of his life? Was God giving her back her papa for his last moments on earth only to take him away? She looked into his eyes. They still looked like they were glazed by the fever. She touched his forehead. It still burned. He had not gotten better. "I will forever be your petite Christine," She said her voice was filled with emotion. He reached up weakly and brushed his fingers against a thick brown curl that lay on her shoulder. His eyes showed that he truly did love his daughter.  
  
"Oh papa," She said softly grasping his hand. "I would take away this illness if I could. I would even take it upon myself,"  
  
"I know you would my daughter," He weakly squeezed her hand. "You have been my little nurse maid through this all. Just like your Maman,"  
  
"If only I possessed her courage,"  
  
"You do my dear, deep inside. All you have to do is reach into your heart and grasp it,"  
  
"How will I do that when I am so scared?" Her voice quivered.  
  
"It is hard to do Mon petite ange, but you will find the courage somehow,"  
  
"What shall I do when you are gone?"  
  
"You will go on with your life, and you won't look back,"  
  
"I shall be alone," She said fearfully.  
  
"Never," He shook his head. "I will always be in your memories of me, and memories can never be erased. Especially happy ones," He said weakly. He was suddenly thrown into another coughing fit. His face showed how much it cost him to cough so violently. Pain racked his lungs.  
  
"Mon Pitie! Dear mercy! " Christine cried out. Her father's hands were covered in blood. He was coughing up blood! "Papa! Papa! You are dying!" She wanted to cry out. She gently wiped his hands off with the cloth of her cream nightgown. The dark stain traveled and spread as she dabbed the blood up with her nightdress. It made her look as if she had been mortally wounded. He moaned softly. She helped him settle back on his pallet. "Shh," She said gently. "Your Christine is here. I will always be here," Tears from her eyes fell on her nightgown, mingling with the blood stains.  
  
"I know mon amour," He smiled at her. His eyes were bright with fever, but still he managed to put a twinkle there. "I will watch you from heaven Mon Rose. And remember," He tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes properly. "I will send you the Angel of Music, he will watch over you," His breaths were shorter and more ragged. She feared the end was closer than she wished it to be.  
  
"I only wish that were true," She said softly.  
  
"It is, just... believe,"  
  
"I try. It's just so hard papa,"  
  
"I know," He said. She could see it in his eyes that he was fading from her. "I love you my Christine," He said bringing his hand up to her face and stroking her cheek. "Keep singing," He whispered. "Never stop, your voice is lovely,"  
  
"Oh papa," She cried.  
  
"Christine," Her papa smiled at her. "My Christine," She cried even harder, her body shook from the sobs. She felt life leaving his weak body.  
  
"No!" She sobbed into his hand. "Stay with me, please papa," She cried. "Please..."  
  
"Don't cry," He whispered so softly she had to lean in to hear. "I love you," His eyes began to close, and his breath began to leave him. She smoothed his hair off his sweaty forehead, which was now beginning to grow cold.  
  
"Papa!" She watched in horror as her papa's spirit left him. "I can live without you! Please Papa come back!"  
  
_"PAPA!" She screamed. Christine's eyes flew open. She was trembling and her nightgown clung to her body from sweat. She was breathing hard. It had been a dream. Only a dream. Her heart would not calm down, her hands would not quit shaking. She'd had the reoccurring dream several times already that month. It was torture for her to relive her father's last moments. She wanted to scream his name again. She wanted to do something, anything to make her papa come back. She would do anything to get him back. What a cold lonely existence. "Papa," She moaned. Her cheeks were already covered in glistening tears. She had been crying in her sleep. "Oh my papa," She cried. She soon fell back asleep from exhaustion, tears still shined on her cheeks. Christine did not know that someone listening to her weeping outside her door... 


	18. The Maker of the Music of the Night

A/N: I'm sorry for not updating sooner, I've been busy and I have needed a break from POTO for a little while, but now I'm back! I've been uncertain how to get Christine to the lair with Erik, I hope this is ok. Tell me what you think. R&R…

Christine woke again only a few hours later still weary from her nightmare. Her room was still dark. She shivered, her small room had to be the coldest in the opera house. She crept out of bed and grabbed a dressing gown to wrap around her shivering body. Her eyes were sore from crying, and she felt so tired of living alone with no one to truly love her. She slowly walked towards the window and placed her hand against the cold pane. It was snowing outside. The tiny flakes drifted down from the dark sky, she could barely make out their shapes as they floated by. She leaned her forehead against the glass.

"Your death still haunts me, papa," She whispered. "I hear you in every echo of the sound of laughter or a violin," She brushed a long brown curl from her eyes. "I miss everything about you. When will the grief begin to leave my heart?" She turned her sad eyes towards her bed. She could not sleep yet. She felt too fresh from her nightmare to try to return to sleep. For when she slept she could not control her dreams. Little memories from her past were sparked in her dreams by certain things that had happened that day. She shuddered. She knew all too well what it felt like to be alone, and needed no reminder from memories to remember the pain she endured after her papa had died. Suddenly something caught her attention as she gazed around her room. She saw a shaft of light was coming from her bedroom doorway. That was strange. She knew she had locked it before she had gone to bed. Why was it open now? She shivered, and hurried over to the door, taking a key off her dresser and started to lock it, but stopped. She listened intently to see if anyone was outside her door. Instead of footsteps all she could hear was music. Her heart was beating faster in her chest. Strains of violin music were wafting down the hall. They beckoned her to fallow. She took a timid step out from the shadows of her room, but then suddenly remembering just in time to grab a lamp before she ventured out into the dark.

She was afraid of the dark, and what lurked in it. So why was she doing such an out-of character thing? She shook her head slightly in bewilderment, her curls bounced and then settled again against her shoulders and her back. She slowly closed the door to her room, and to safety, and ventured out into the dark hall. Her lamp cast an eerie glow against the old walls and marble floors of the Opera House. It was funny that no one else had heard the music of the violin. Was she going mad? Was the music just in her head? Why then was it getting louder as she approached the source? Her mind reeled with possibilities. She stopped suddenly, realizing she was now halfway down the grand-stair case. She had gone down three flights of stairs and had not realized it, she had been so entranced by the music. Her mouth opened slightly in astonishment. Who played such mournful music that seemed to capture her soul? It gave her wings! She felt her heart soar as the bow touched the strings to the unseen violin. The music was coming from somewhere in the Opera House and she had to find it! I could be her papa's ghost playing the violin! How glad she would be for any company from her papa, supernatural or human. She bowed her head slightly. What was she thinking? He would not come down to heaven. Come now Christine, she thought silently. The music made her feel like she could laugh and weep bitterly at the same time. Who played such beautiful music? She willed her feet to move once more, and finally after many minutes of searching for the source she came to a door. The music drifted out from under the cracks of the door, and seemed to be coming from the door itself. She held her kerosene lamp up high and slowly, with much fear and trepidation, turned the handle. It was her dressing room. That's where the music was coming from! Only it didn't seem to come from one spot, it came from everywhere at once. It was a soft melody that made her sink down to the floor and weep aloud. It reminded her so much about her papa's music. Her curls spilled out over her shoulders and back as she knelt on the floor weeping. She was so alone! Dying would have been better than going through one more day alone. The music seemed to have a mind of its own. It seemed to wish with all of its heart to soothe her soul rather than cause her distress, for the music changed into a soft lullaby which made her weep even harder. All was suddenly dark in her dressing room. With the force of the air, and blow at which the kerosene lamp fell to the floor with her when she sank down, its flame was knocked out.

"No! No!" She whispered softly. "I'm afraid of the dark," She said softly, she was terrified. She cried out loud searching for the door or anyway to escape the dark. She began to feel like the black darkness was animal waiting to swallow her up the first chance she gave it. The violin music was there once again beside her like a comforting friend. She laid her head against the floor, trying to calm her beating heart, sweet tears still rushed down her cheeks. The sound of the lullaby swept over her making her heart calm.

"Do not cry," A voice commanded softly. It was her Angel's voice. She raised her head slightly. The sound of the violin playing a lullaby was still there, giving the situation an even more surreal quality.

"Angel," She whispered.

"Yes my Christine," His voice washed over her like a wave from the ocean, it completely swept her away in emotion. She shivered at the sound of his deep seductive tones. The way he said her name alone could make her feel like she was melting in a pool of fire.

"Is that your music that I hear?"

"Yes Mon Rose it is,"

"It's beautiful," She said softly.

"I never expected such a show of tears over a simple lullaby," He said not chastising her for her weeping, his voice was full of compassion.

"It reminded me of my papa,"

"He is not on this earth is he, Christine?" He asked her.

"No he is not,"

"Is that why you were crying tonight, Mon Rose?" His question brought a delicate pink flame to her cheeks.

"You heard me," Christine whispered.

"I have a tendency to check on those who are under my wing,"

"And you happened upon me when I was sleeping,"

"You were moaning in your sleep, my dear,"

"I was having…a nightmare," She said softly. Her voice was full of pain.

"About your father?"

"About his death," She said slowly. He did not answer for a moment.

"I am sorry Christine," He said.

"Your music just reminded me even more of him. He used to play for me many times,"

"Music tends to bring back memories," He sounded as if he understood her emotions. She sighed softly.

"It makes me feel even more alone. Knowing I have no one in my life to watch over me and to love me," She admitted.

"That is where you are wrong," Her Angel replied.

"What do you mean?" Christine asked anxiously.

"You are not the only one who feels that way," He said softly. Her Angel was showing even more human qualities, making her believe even more in her mind that he was indeed the Opera Ghost. But she had so desperately wanted something to cling to, that she had forgotten all about that aspect of her Angel's character. To her he was not the Phantom of the Opera, he was her Angel, sent from heaven to protect her and to teach her music. Only now did those doubts, about who he truly was, come back to haunt her.

"You are lonely? I thought Angels did not get lonely,"

"You are wrong about that, Mon Ange," His smooth voice made her tremble.

"Do you have a name, my Angel? All Angel's have names," Her voice sounded child-like and lost at that moment.

"My name is Erik," Her Angel had a name. His name was Erik.

"Who are you?" Christine asked getting up from the floor. Her tone suggested her fear. After a month under his tutelage she had finally gotten the courage up to ask him.

"The Opera Ghost, my child," He replied. The lullaby was still there, but it no longer sounded comforting to her. "I know you found me out the moment Madame Giry mentioned that I would be pleased about your performance in Hannibal, which I was,"

"The Opera Ghost," Christine repeated numbly.

"Do not let that frighten you. I know you have heard stories about me that are frightening, but think about where you have heard them. Not all sources can be trusted,"

"Than who can be trusted?" Christine asked angrily. All her life she had believed in an Angel, and in one night her hopes had crashed all around her. She had been foolish to ignore the signs that she was being deceived.

"Why I can," He said gently. "I would not hurt you Christine," His voice echoed within her heart. "I would never lay a hand on you," Her anger subsided instantly.

"Where are you…Erik?" His name sounded so strange upon her lips.

"Behind the mirror, my child," His answer was so matter-a-fact that it startled her. Her gaze instantly fell upon the full length mirror.

"You've been there all this time?"

"Yes," He answered her.

"Why are you revealing this to me now Ange…Erik," She caught herself clumsily. He was no longer going to be called that in her mind. He was not an Angel, but the opposite.

"Because you are ready to hear the truth, Christine," He said. She felt her heart flutter at the mention of her name from his lips, Erik's lips. She felt she could trust him. The violin whispered for her to trust the man who made music come from it. "Come to me, and I will show you how to lift your voice to the heavens, and make Angels weep,"

"Come with you?"

"To my home, beneath the Opera,"

"I would follow you anywhere, for you are my teacher," Christine let the words out before she could stop herself. Her heart had meant them, her head had not.

"Than come, my Christine," His voice surrounded her with warmth, making her shiver once more with fear and love at the same time. She tilted her head slightly in silent agreement. Without warning a secret mechanism was touched and the mirror swung slowly open. In the shadows was her teacher. She could see nothing of his body in the dark, only his golden eyes looking at her with such fierce intensity that she nearly fainted. She had met her teacher truly for the first time. She had met the maker of the _Music of the Night _at long last_…_


	19. The Journey to the Lair

A/N: I was very encouraged by the reviews I received over the past couple of days! Thanks so much, guys! You make my day! I didn't expect that last chapter to go over so well, considering I wrote it all at like 12:30 A.M a few nights ago, I was slightly tired. Again, Thanks! Oh and I shouldn't even put this since you guys did such a good job with it last time, but….R&R!

Christine looked at Erik uncertainly. The darkness that surrounded him frightened her. He seemed to sense her fear. His golden eyes were gazing at her compassionately.

"Christine grasp my arm so that I might lead you," Erik said holding out the crook of his arm to her as she crossed the threshold of the mirror into the tunnel. She looked so very afraid, her face was pale, but her eyes were ablaze with determination not to back down. She wanted to know the Opera Ghost better. She wanted to get to know Erik better also. She clutched onto his arm tightly. Even through the thick material of his clothing he could feel her soft touch. He heard her whimper quietly as they were suddenly immersed in pitch black darkness. He had forgotten she was afraid of the dark. He needed no light to see his path through his labyrinth of traps and turns. He fingered the violin case he was holding in one hand, while trying to take care of Christine, making sure she stepped in no hole or trap. He felt her arm trembling, and knew at once that he would have to get her to his home as soon as possible.

"I'm afraid of the dark," She whispered holding tightly to his arm.

"Calm yourself, Mon Ange," He said softly to her. He felt a brown curl gently sweep by his chin as she turned to look at him when he spoke. They were in tight quarters as they walked through the winding passages. He felt her hip accidentally brush his, when the walking space became truly tiny.

"The dark got to me at first, also," Erik said knowingly. "But then I became used to it. One has to become used to the dark when…well when you live here," He trailed off. For once he could say nothing. She would find out soon enough what he was. He was a monster. He would never have her as his own, because of his deformity. How he could hardly bear the thought! He let out a soft anguished moan. Christine turned to look at him.

"I have a question," She said after a long pause. If anyone else watched them they would have thought that the couple was a on a leisurely stroll, if they were not walking through a dark tunnel at the moment. They could have been anywhere, such as a large garden or beautiful tree-lined street.

"Ask anything of me," Erik said stopping suddenly and facing her. Her grip on his arm tightened slightly. "I can deny you nothing," Her eyes reflected shock from his confession. She did not expect her brooding teacher to be so open with her.

"Your eyes…how did they get to be such a peculiar color?" She stumbled with her question. Her cheeks heated with a blush. She was thankful that he could not see her very well in the dark, but with those strange eyes she could not tell.

"Gold is not a usual eye color these days?" He asked dryly. "I was born with the gold coloring in my eyes. I suppose that spending so much time in the dark tunnels, and in my home beneath the Opera that my eyes just began to glow," He smiled as if this were a secret joke that she did not understand.

"Oh," She mouthed. She was gazing at him again. He could always tell when her eyes would turn to look at him…and his mask. She asked no more questions for a long while, and seemed interested in where they were going. A rat suddenly scuttled across their path. He expected her to tremble and shriek in fear at the small rodent, but instead she peered into the darkness after the small creature as if trying to see where its home was. They finally rounded a corner, and came upon the lake. He heard her gasp softly at the magnitude of it. The ceiling rounded out to its full height, about seventeen feet above their heads. On it were swirls of paint making up a huge mural on the arched stone ceiling. The colors came from the purest rainbow, they were so vibrant and beautiful.

"Who did these?" She asked in awe, her head was back as she gazed up at the ceiling. She could see only a little of them from the glint of Erik's eyes which gave off a tiny shredding of light.

"I," He answered.

"There are beautiful," She said softly. She turned to look at him. He looked at her his eyes were full of amazement. She treated everyone as if they were her life-long friends, even if she had only known them for a few months. She even treated the Opera Ghost with kindness. His heart trembled in his breast. She could melt the ice around his heart. She let go of his arm and placed her hand on the wall were some of the paint had dripped when he had painted. She fingered the bump it created on the stone.

"What do you not do well? For I have heard such tales of your music, and now your paintings!" She looked over at him. She made quite a picture looking over her shoulder at him. Her long brown curls drifted over her arms, down her back, and hung softly at waist level. Her blue eyes were wide with wonder, and her mouth was set in a beautiful smile as she gazed at his mural on the ceiling. She was holding her nightgown and white dressing-gown up slightly with one hand so that it would not be trailed in the filth on the cellar floor. Everything about her was delicate and tiny. Even the curves of her body looked delicately shaped. He averted his eyes from her figure, and back to her eyes. They sparkled like gems when she was happy or anxious. She was the first person he knew that had actually noticed what was on the ceiling. All Nadir or the men who wandered into his home saw was a dark filthy ceiling, now at last someone had seen the beauty in his creation.

"Come," He said gently. He held out his arm once again. She clasped it, but looked back up at the mural as they slowly walked from it. He led her to the shore, and began untying one of the ebony boats from a post that anchored them to this side of the lake. Erik stepped in first so that he could steady the boat for her. He crouched down beside the lantern on the front of the boat, and suddenly with hardly any movement, quicker than the eye could see, there was a merry flame lit in the lantern. Then he stood once more and offered her his hand which was covered by the edge of his black cloak. He had done it on purpose, though she would never know it. He did not wish her to feel his pale skin that had not been the warmth of the sunlight for many years. He was too cold to be touched by someone as soft and warm as she. She sat in front of him on a cushioned seat made from Persian silk. He stood at the back of the small boat with a long ebony pole that had leaned up against the post where the boat was tied. The black pole had a circle of silver going around it at the top, and etched in the sliver were roses intertwined. He pushed off from shore, and the boat glided them across the misty lake. Christine gazed down into the black waters. She could see nothing, but an ever changing reflection of herself in the dim light of the lantern. When they were almost half-way across the large lake Christine saw movement in the waters. A pair of eyes emerged. There was a beautiful looking woman in the water! Emerald orbs gazed back at her. Long black hair flowed down around the woman's shoulders, and back, covering her obviously bare body. Before she could ask Erik what the woman was doing there, he spoke to her, noticing her interest in the creature.

"That is a Siren," He said to her. She looked back at him.

"Does she not wear clothing?" Christine asked anxiously, for only the whores of Paris went without clothing or very little at all to be seductive, and that was in the slums. It was a horrible practice, and she abhorred it.

"No." He answered softly.

"Oh," Christine said, turning back to look at the Siren, but by the time she looked the mystical woman was gone back into the depths of the lake. She watched as they approached the shore. Erik was experienced in polling his boat across the waters, for they rapidly approached the other side. Once the boat was tied at another post, Erik helped Christine out of the boat using the same practice he had before, by secretively placing the edge of his cloak over his hand so that she would not have to feel his cold palm. She stepped out as gracefully as she possible could in heavy skirts and petticoats.

"It will be dark again once we enter the tunnels to get to my home, do we need to take the lantern this time?" Erik asked her. She looked at him, she was startled from her thoughts.

"If you could," She said softly. Her cheeks heated up with another delicate blush. She was ashamed that he knew of her fear of the dark. He bent down, grasped the lantern, and held it in front of him.

"Please hold this," He asked her, gently placing his precious violin into her hands. "And hold onto my arm. There are traps that I do not wish you getting ensnared in."

"Very well," She murmured. She once again held his strong arm in hers, while holding his beautiful leather violin case in her other hand. They entered the dark entrance to the next set of twists and turns that made up the tunnels. She shivered as the dark heavy air met her soft skin. It felt like a sticky warm humid blanket had been thrown around her body, weighing her down.

"Many people are afraid of the dark," Erik said breaking the silence. He felt uncertain as to how to comfort her.

"I know no one else who is," She admitted.

"Most do not admit their fears. You did," He looked over at her in the hazy light of the lantern. "You are the bravest of them all,"

"Sometimes I do not feel so brave," Christine whispered.

"The brave never feel courageous, but they conquer fear because they look past it,"

"I wish I felt even the smallest bit courageous. Then I would face dark tunnels…and dark dreams." She was quiet from then on, but that did not mean she wasn't thinking about what he had said. His words settled deeply into her heart. Sometimes she would silently turn to look at him without him knowing she was gazing at him. His white mask intrigued her. What was he hiding under the silken cover? The thought would drive her mad. She was always a curious creature, but never one to pry. This was different. This was a man she had grown attached to, when would he tell her about his mask? She thought silently about all these things, until finally after many miles of walking they reached a large stone arch over a regular looking wall. Erik let of her arm, and pushed a hidden button on a innocent looking bump on the third stone in the middle row of the wall. The wall swung open revealing to her the Opera Ghost's home beneath the Opera House…


	20. The Phantom's Lair

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I am sorry that Christine wants to take off Erik's mask, but that's our girl. The question is will Christine leave Erik in the end when she's found out the truth? Well that is the question of the hour. By the way guys, the Phantom of the Opera Movie Trailer just came out go to 

(No I do not own that site) and watch it!!!! It looks absolutely amazing! I'm not exactly an Emmy Rossum fan, but she looks like she's doing a good job. I like to think that my Erik looks a little bit like the Phantom in the movie, he's tall and he fills the room with his brooding presence. Ok I know in this chapter Erik might seem a little rough, but Christine will soften him eventually. Well R&R as usual…

Christine's gasp seemed to echo from the marble flooring, and around the heavy columns. His home was magnificent. It was grander than anything she had ever seen. They were standing in what looked like a large circular hall, with doors leading to different parts of the house. Works of art, such as paintings, sculptures, and tapestries filled the large hall. Where did he get all of these things? The décor looked mostly Persian, but other things from other countries filled the room as well. So many questions wanted to be spoken all at once, but only one escaped her lips.

"Where have you been?" She asked him. He turned his back to her as he fingered a jewel encrusted saber that hung decoratively on the wall. "Where did you get all these beautiful things?"

"Where have I not been," He said. His tone was decisively bored, as if he had been over and over this subject before. He placed his violin case on the top of the organ. "Everywhere," He turned back to look at her, his intensive gaze made her want to run and hide. "I traveled as an architect,"

"I've hear rumors that you built this very Opera House."

"You have heard correctly," He nodded. "Only you have heard that the Opera Ghost built this magnificent theater, not Erik,"

"That is so," She looked at him curiously. There was about ten feet between them, a distance that he could very easily cover. Why did he not try to take advantage of her? She was tiny, and he could easily overpower her. She did not ask him this. The look in his eyes when he gazed at her was more than good answer to her. He cared for her. The thought frightened her. His temper was unpredictable, he was filled with a dark presence, and he was the opposite of everything she was. Except for one thing. He was kind. But then so was a fox to its prey, pretending to be a friend, but then pouncing when its prey was unaware.

"Is something on your mind?" Erik asked her. She was startled from her thoughts. His golden yellow eyes that were flecked with brown were intoxicating to look at. She finally had enough light to look at him better. He was tall, but not big and muscular. He seemed to carry himself with dignity, and possessed a power and presence that made him seem big. He had black hair that contrasted distinctly with his white mask that covered the right side of his face. His hands looked capable enough to strangle a man, but yet gentle enough to hold a small child.

"No…no," She whispered, she was enchanted by him. She cared for Erik, he was her teacher. But nothing more. At least for now she would trust him.

"Here come with me," He said heading to a door by a magnificent Persian tapestry. Each door had a design painted onto it in gold. This door's design was a sweeping eastern version of a violin with graceful leaves all around it. It was his music room.

Erik closely watched Christine's reaction as she entered his favorite room of his house. It was an expression of awe.

"Do you like it?" He asked.

"It's lovely," She smiled, her attention was not on the grand paintings or expensive items, but on the statue of the Persian maiden holding the rose. She slowly walked over to it, tracing the rose gently with her finger.

"I acquired her on my travels through Persia,"

"Beautiful," She whispered. She shifted her eyes back on him. "Why were you in Persia?"

"I was…commissioned to build trifles for royalty there," His mouth turned up in a slight smile. "Actually more than commissioned, I was forced,"

"Oh?" Christine's eyes got larger.

"We have time for such tales later," He turned away.

"But I want to hear them," She said gently straightening in anticipation.

"It can wait," He said more sternly this time. "We must start on your lessons at once,"

"I do not wish to deny you, but I must return to the surface to sleep," She said meekly.

"It will not hurt you to practice for a few hours, besides it's nearly morning already. Think of it as getting an early start," He said offhandedly.

"Oh," She said softly. "I feel like I could collapse from weariness, won't you please let me go?"

"You don't have to play the dramatics with me, Mon Petite," He sat at his organ and played a scale.

"I really cannot sing anymore," Christine turned away. "I have been practicing all day," She was evoking his wrath and she knew it. But she was truly exhausted. He turned at her his features were full of rage.

"Why you ungrateful little ballet rat!" He exclaimed stalking over to her. His fiery eyes felt as if they could turn her into ashes in a mere second. She cried out and ran to a corner. He looked as if he was going to rend her in two. "I made you and this is how you repay me?" He raised his hand as if to strike her.

"No! I will sing! I will sing!" She screamed. "Please!" Christine's cheeks were wet with frightened tears. Her heart would not stop pounding. Her hands were trembling. A voice inside of Erik's heart was crying out at him in agony at the sound of her cries of terror.

"Please! I meant no harm!" She cried. She shielded her face with her hands as if he was going to maul her. "I will sing!" He slowly lowered his hand, realizing what he was about to do. Horror chilled his blood.

"Oh dear sweet Christine," He whispered miserably listening to her sobs. His heart had grown cold over the years. As a young boy he would have never reduced a woman to hysterical tears. "My dear innocent Christine," He said softly. He wanted to take the knife that hung on the wall near his organ and cut his heart out of his chest. He was worth nothing. "Forgive, Mon Ange," He choked back emotions that flooded his body all at once. "Forgive me…forgive me," He moaned softly. She looked up at him, her eyes were wet with tears. A large teardrop rolled down her glistening cheek to the marble floor. She watched as her nearly fell apart, almost letting his emotions get the better of him. He drew in a deep shuddered breath. "You are tired…I know my dear," He said softly. "Forgive me, I do not know what came over me," He swiftly stole a look at her, afraid of what he would see. Her blue eyes were still filled with tears, some rolled down her cheeks and fell to the floor, and some slipped down to her mouth making her lips shine. He quelled the urged to wipe them away with his fingers.

"…I…I forgive you Erik." She whispered. He looked up at her with surprise.

"Truly?" He asked, his voice sounded very child-like to her, as if he was waiting for her approval.

"Yes." She tilted her head at him like a child. She could tell guilt was still eating him away. He paused in order to gather his thoughts. He would start over, and never treat her that way again. He must be attentive to her every need.

"You are weary." He whispered after a moment. Guilt was assaulting him.

"A little," She replied softly through her tears. "…But I do not think I could sleep without nightmares." She said timidly.

He said nothing, but walked over to his organ, opened the leather violin case, and took out his prized instrument. He brought the violin to his chin, and tested the bow against the strings. "Sit there," He said gently motioning to a black settee. He focused his attention to preparing his instrument to play, but his heart wasn't wholly in his task. He looked warily back at Christine. He had caused her much emotional damage after his little child-like tirade, and he knew it. He was angry at himself. He couldn't believe he had almost stuck her with his own hand. Would she ever truly forgive him? Christine found a settee and settled down into its soft cushions. Slowly he began playing a soft brooding melody. The music was an open expression of how he felt at the moment. She looked at him for a moment, before sighing.

"That will only make my dreams darker, can't you play something lighter?" She asked so sweetly that he could not refuse, even though he detested light pieces of music, thinking they should only be played at children's parties.

"I can deny you nothing," Erik said in a tone that made her again shiver with emotion. His voice held intensity like a lightening bolt's electricity. He played a soft lullaby, reminiscent to the one he played to call her to him only a few hours ago. He became so involved in the lullaby that he did not watch Christine for a moment. When he did finally look up at her he was astounded to find she was asleep. He played on, watching the peaceful expression on her face. She was half-leaning, half-laying against the arm of the settee, her cheek rested against her arms which cradled it. Her brown curls were spilled out over her arms and back, and her wet lashes lay against her still glistening cheeks. He finished out the piece. He put his violin silently back into its case, and locked it. Then he gently picked her up, surprised to find that she was as light and delicate as she looked. She looked so peaceful lying there in his arms as he carried her. He finally reached the room he was looking for and carefully balanced her in his arms as he opened the door. He laid her down in the bed after maneuvering her out of her dressing gown, and placing her underneath the covers. She looked like a glass doll lying there beneath the covers. He resisted the urge to brush a curl away from her face. Oh how he cared for her. Though the display that evening had not shown him to be worthy of her, he would change the record. He cared for her more than anything. A new passion filled flame filled his heart. He would die for this woman if it came down to it. He did not deserve her. She was so lovely, like an angel. And he was spawn from the devil. He shook his head slightly in disgust at himself. He would teach her to make angels in heaven weep with the sound of her voice. That would be his gift to her. Although he was willing to give up much more than that, even to the point of giving up his soul, he knew that for now, this would be enough. His mask would eventually become a barrier between them, if she ever cared for him. He frowned softly, and reached up to touch his mask, wishing he could fling it away.

"Oh Mon Ange," He whispered to her sleeping form. "I will never be worth of you, nor will any man. Tout va bien Mon Rose, all is well my rose," He silently walked from the room with one last longing glance at the sleeping beauty in the bed, and closed the door…


	21. Waking to Roses

Christine awoke the next morning, not to the feel of the sun's warmth shining through her window, but to darkness. Only it wasn't completely dark. Small glows of candles all around the bed and in different spots around the room shone merrily at her. It took her several moments to figure out where she was, and then the evening began to flood back to her. She was in Erik's home. Her heart skipped several beats when she frantically realized she was in a strange bed, but there was no tale-tell sign of an indention in the bedding beside her. Erik had slept elsewhere. She slipped out from under the covers, feeling as if she could sleep no more, and grasped a candle and lit a kerosene lamp in order to see a little better. She gazed back at the canopied bed she had slept in. It was a beautiful mahogany bed, with a soft red silk canopy cover. Roses were the main theme in the room. Obviously Erik had a fond affection for the beautiful flower for they decorated the room heavily. A settee sat in the corner by a self filled with books, and a vanity table without a mirror sat in another. She gazed down at her rumpled nightgown, it would not do to traipse around her teacher in such a garment. She would shame her own father in his grave if she did such a thing again. She turned her eyes towards the large wardrobe. Would it be prying to peek into it to see if it held clothing? She decided that the situation was desperate enough that all protocol should be flung out the window with great speed. She quickly opened the wardrobe door, and her eyes grew round at the wealth that accosted her eyes.

She felt as if he was trying to buy her affection, even though she knew that could not be true. She cared for him, and knew there were many things she did not know about him, but that would come in time. She longed to know why he possessed such a temper that flared at the slightest action of disobedience. He had sent her that note warning her not to speak to Raoul again. He was being protective over her. Did he know something about Raoul that she did not? Or did he simply want her all to himself. The thought made her tremble. She tried to not think about it, and averted her eyes from the note and back to the gifts he had given her. Dresses of every color, and fabric hung neatly in the wardrobe with starched precision. One in particular caught her eye. It was a soft blue dress that seemed to shimmer a tiny bit, reflecting somewhat of a violet color when the fabric shifted. She gasped as she looked more closely at it. Never had she seen such a gown as beautiful as the one in her hand. She reverently hung it up. It would not do for her to wear something as fine as that dress. It would make her feel unworthy. She searched through the other dresses, trying to find one without expensive decorations or jewels hanging from it. She finally found a soft lavender dress with long sleeves, a higher neckline than was fashionable in Paris at the time (which was entirely acceptable to her), and a tight bodice. The fabric was soft, but it wasn't silk. She couldn't tell what kind of fabric it was. She slowly dressed, taking off her nightgown and putting on the new dress.

When she finally got it on she was dearly wishing for a mirror. Her hair would need to be put to rights, but how would she fix the pins in her hair without a mirror? She searched in the drawers in the bottom of the wardrobe, hoping to find a small hand held mirror. Finally her search proved fruitful. She picked up a silver mirror out of the depths of the wardrobe. She studied her appearance in the mirror. She looked older and more refined. It was an improvement over the meek look she possessed. Now she looked even more confident in a simple borrowed dress, than she ever had in her own. She angled the mirror and set it on the vanity while she tackled her hair. She finally settled on brushing it, and letting it hang curly down her back, with some of her hair swept off her face, and pinned in the back. She looked absolutely stunning. Something shiny caught her eye on the vanity table. It was a dainty silver chain with a pendant of a rose on it. The way it was set out, it looked like a gift for her. She slowly slipped it on, feeling like a guilty child who had gotten into her mother's jewelry box. She took one last pensive look in the mirror, gathered her courage up, and slowly opened the door. Cold air assailed her, and she was glad she had taken a shawl with her that matched the dress. She wrapped it around her shoulders, and closed the door. On the door was a design done in gold. It was a rose. She tilted her head slightly as she looked at it. Her stomach growled suddenly and interrupted her reverie. She remembered why she had dressed and stepped out of her room in the first place. She followed tunnel after tunnel inside his home just looking around, but also secretly hoping that she would stumble into the master of the house. Candles hung everywhere on the wide stone tunnel walls. They lit her way around each corner. She finally came to a door that looked promising so she turned the handle and opened it.

"I was wondering when you would find me," Erik said lightly, his voice surprised her. "I see you found my gifts,"

"You were more than kind. I needed nothing," She said softly, not willing to meet his gaze.

"You are far to kind to me after the way I treated you last night," His voice took on a dark quality.

"We will think on it no longer, it is in the past," Christine whispered. She looked up at him. He was leaning against a column, in a relaxed fashion like a panther.

"A very good idea, indeed," He said making her shiver with the sound of his deep voice. "Are you hungry?" He asked.

"A little," She smiled. He motioned to a large table, where elegantly carved chairs sat waiting for her.

"What would you care for?" He asked. She gazed at the options that were set before her as she slowly sat in a chair.

"Anything,"

"In other words you wish me to surprise you," He said dryly. She hid a smile. He was very pleasant to be around when he wished. He served her small portions of everything from the table onto a rather expensive looking piece of china. When she bit into a pastry and closed her eyes when she chewed. The taste of strawberries and a sweet cream entered her mouth. When she opened her eyes again she noticed that Erik was staring at her. She self-consciously dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.

"Do you like it?" He asked. There was a twinkle in his golden eyes that let her know he was inwardly laughing at her.

"Yes very much so,"

"I'm glad," Erik smiled. His smile caused a tingling sensation to crawl up her spine. Why did she get these feelings when she was with him?

" I wanted to thank-you for the tiny night-candles." Christine said after a moment. She was truly thankful. It would have been nightmarish to wake up to complete darkness. Erik seemed embarrassed that she had noticed.

"You're welcome," He said softly. Her eyes flew up to his as she heard him speak. His gaze was intense and it was as if he was saying: "I will look at you if I please." She looked down at her plate once more, picked up her fork, and resumed eating. "After you eat I will show you around a bit more before we begin the lessons." She smiled shyly. A thought struck her, she was in the Opera ghost's home. Never at anytime in her life would she have guessed that she would have been in the Paris Opera House Ghost's home. But now he was more than a man masquerading as a ghost to her. He possessed many mysteries that she hoped with time that he would reveal. His white mask intrigued her the most. When would he reveal that to her?


	22. The Darkness

A/N: Sorry I haven't been updating in a while, but I'm back! And thanks for the reviews I've gotten! So R&R!  
  
Christine smiled softly as Erik led her down yet another corridor. They had been winding through halls for hours it seemed. He was giving her a tour of his vast home. She knew she would get lost if she ever ventured out through the tunnels alone. She was watching him as he described things that he believed would interest her, such as a lovely porcelain vase, or other such trifles. Truthfully she was interested in none of those things. She was more interested about him. For he was a complete mystery to her. Why was he haunting the Paris Opera House? Why did he wear that mask? It was a beautiful mystery in it's self. The mask was a smooth silky white, and covered the right side of his face. It made him seem even fiercer. She wondered, he was so handsome, why did he wear a mask at all? He finally stopped at a plain door with hardly any decoration on it, and turned the handle. Immediately her senses were assailed with the feeling of darkness. The whole décor of the room was black, and smelled of cinnamon, and other spices. It was Erik's scent. She knew it almost by heart.  
  
"What is this room?"  
  
"My chambers," He said slowly turning to look at her in the dark lighting. His bedroom. She could see it now. A large bed covered in a masculine black canopy sat in the corner. Huge mahogany bookcases were filled with volumes from different countries and written in different languages. No mirrors were hung anywhere. The room wasn't large, as she would have expected the master of the Opera House to have. It spoke volumes to her about his character. He was humble, but yet he had chosen black for the main color. What was this man mourning? Why did it seem to her that his heart was crying out to her? Yet it was silent, she could not hear what it needed most. His eyes glowed at her like blazing coal in a fire. He was studying her reaction. She felt like he was gazing into her soul. His look was unnerving her.  
  
"Please," She said shyly gazing down at her shoes. She did not like him looking at her so intently.  
  
"Christine?" He asked. He realized at once why she was uncomfortable. It was him who was making her feel that way. "I can not help, but gaze at you my dear,"  
  
"Why ever not?" She asked looking up in surprise. He slowly shut the door to his room before answering.  
  
"Your beauty and poise remind me of another lady I once knew,"  
  
"Oh," Christine whispered. "What happen to her?" She asked. She felt as if she was evading his privacy by asking such a question. He remained silent for a moment before responding. His face was half shielded by the mask so she could not tell what he was thinking at the moment.  
  
"She died when she was only twenty-two," He said softly, he was looking at the door to his bedroom. "Someone found her in an old broken down flat in Paris. She had committed suicide by hanging herself," Erik's voice was emotionless, as if he was trying to block some unwanted memory out.  
  
"How tragic," Christine said softly.  
  
"Most are so young when death takes them," He murmured. Christine gazed at him, transfixed with the far off look in his eyes. "So very young," He looked quite forlorn to her. It was a moment where he wore no mask over his feelings or heart. "Or they are dealt with tragedy, like a lover dieing, or a child being born with a disfigurement," The way he spoke the last word gave her shivers from the hateful way he said it. For a moment she thought there was fire in his eyes.  
  
"You must have loved her so very much to speak of her this way now," Christine resisted the impulse to take his hand and comfort him.  
  
"I did," He smiled distantly. "She was a bit foolish at times, but I loved her no matter what she did to me," His smiled faded slightly as he recalled a memory. "She was beautiful. Unfortunately that same beauty did not always dwell in her heart. But she is dead now, and her memory fades,"  
  
"Oh Erik, I'm sorry," Christine said. "I'm sorry you could not live happily ever after, Erik," She wanted to weep with sadness at the way he was remembering his love so tenderly. He made her feel as if it was her tragedy not his the way he spoke in soft endearing tones.  
  
"There may still be a time for such things," He focused his eyes on her. "But until then I will remain alone in the depths of my dark kingdom," Once again his intense gaze made her feel uneasy. She looked away. An unwanted blush crept up her cheeks. He chose to ignore it and not comment. Instead he turned and motioned for her to follow him. She wandered after him like a lost child lifting the cloth of her dress up slightly in a lady-like fashion so that it would not trail on the marble flooring. Christine curiously watched Erik's back as he walked. His size even though not large, appeared magnified with his black clothing. He wore a black dress coat, black pants, and a white shirt underneath. In his breast pocket there was a white handkerchief tucked in. His ebony opera cape was draped around his shoulders He was the essence of gentleman. His black hair lay fashionably off his forehead and combed back. She realized how strong and passionate he was about his existence under the Opera House, but yet he mourned in for some reason. His eyes seemed to hide the truth. People's eyes held so many secrets. She had seen many eyes in her lifetime. Some were warm, some were cold. And some held the passion of youth and life. Some made her shudder, for they were hollow and haunted looking with hunger and disease. But Erik's eyes were like none other. They haunted her and yet enchanted her. How could one man fill her with so many conflicting emotions at once? Her heart trembled. When he spoke to her it was in deep and low tones. He was so dark and seductive without meaning to be. He was innocent yet, horribly guilty. He turned to see if she was still following him, his mask glinted in the golden glow of the candles that hung on the walls. His eyes glinted gently at her like embers from a fire. His eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life in her dreams.  
  
"Come we should return to the music room," He said as he kept walking.  
  
"Erik, wait," Christine said suddenly. He quickly turned and faced her. Her face was pale. She had to tell him that he wasn't alone. He had a companion in her. She knew exactly how it felt to be alone, and she didn't want him to go through it any longer.  
  
"Yes?" He asked looking at her expectantly.  
  
"I..." She whispered, uncertain as how to accomplish what she had set out to do. She reached out her hand to touch his shoulder, but in a swift movement he captured her wrist. His hand was once again covered with his black cloak so that she did not feel his skin. He had misinterpreted her movements. He thought she was about to rip away his mask. A fire that had not been there before was now burning fearfully in his eyes.  
  
"What...are you doing?" He asked, his voice was low and husky. Christine trembled, feeling his hand grip her wrist. Her fingers were still out stretched to touch his shoulder. She tried speaking, but all that came out was a soft strangled cry. Erik tilted his head slightly. His eyes still burned with a red hot fire. "What were you trying to accomplish, Christine?" He growled at her.  
  
"Erik, please! You're frightening me!"  
  
"I'll do much worse if you do not answer my question!" He thundered.  
  
"I...was just..." Christine's eyes were wide with fear. "...I was trying to comfort you...please, I meant no harm," She whispered. He studied her for a long moment, and seemed to sense she was telling the truth for he gently let her hand drop from his iron grip, but his burning gaze never left her face. His muscles relaxed slowly, he hadn't realized how tense he had been.  
  
"I am sorry I reacted so. I am not used to the gentle touch of a woman, only the rough hand of an enemy in combat," He said softly. She only managed to blink her eyes in response. "Don't frightened," He brought his face closer to hers. "Christine," He whispered, his breath tickled her cheek.  
  
"I'm not frightened," She whispered. Her body was trembling and her eyes were wide as they gazed into his fiery orbs. His face was only inches away from hers. The scent of cinnamon and far away Persian spices softly filled her senses. And suddenly he abruptly turned away. She watched as he retreated away from her. What had happened??  
  
A/N: Can anyone guess who the mysterious woman that Erik remembered so fondly? 


	23. Remembering Madeline

A/N: I was listening to the Main Theme from _**Schindler's List**_ played by Janine Jansen. There is a violin solo in it that reminds me a little of Erik. On a regular basis I listen to www. accuradio .com (no I do not own that site.) I listen to the classical station. Go check it out! It's a great way to listen to music and get inspiration!  
  
Erik raked his fingers roughly through his black hair. Could he not control his emotions? He kept his back to her as he pondered this. His temper was legendary in Persia where he barely escaped with his life. Nadir had aided his escape from that dreadful paradise. But still, he needed to control his rage especially around a woman with such a sensitive demeanor. She did remind him distantly of a woman he had once known. The woman had been his mother. He had loved her as much as a son could love, and yet she had still turned her back on him. As did everyone else he had encountered through out his life. Christine would be no exception. How he cared for her, and yet she still treated him as a piece of glass, carefully choosing her words before she spoke them, afraid to break the "glass" by saying the wrong thing. But she had still stirred his wrath. She was nervous that she would do something wrong to displease him, all she had done was please him. All he could see in his mind even when he closed his eyes was her face. It was so innocent, her eyes were wide and trusting, and her lips curved so gracefully with a tint of pink. His reaction to her almost brushing his shoulder with her fingers was unforgivable, but what else was he to do? He could not trust her, but oh how he longed to trust someone. He turned back to her and gazed at her for a long time. His eyes were glowing in the dim lighting of the candles. Her eyes locked with his. She bit her lip uncertainly. He had to say something to break the silence somehow.  
  
"Come Christine, we must start your lesson immediately," His voice was husky. He did not wish for her to know he was fighting anger, overwhelming sadness, and other emotions he could not explain. They were bombarding him all at once. She dipped her head slightly in agreement, and he silently led her back through the twisting corridors to the music room.  
  
After her lesson Erik had sent Christine away for a rest before their supper meal. She had stayed behind secretly and was now quietly watching from behind a pillar. What she had done would have earned her the title "minx" from her father. She blushed softly as she thought about it. She turned her eyes back onto her teacher. He looked more eccentric to her than he ever had before as he sat at his organ writing furiously on a piece of cream parchment paper. All she could see was his back, and how whenever he leaned forward the black fabric of his shirt and cape strained slightly against his back muscles. His fedora was hanging jauntily on a hook beside his Punjab Lasso. When he would play his organ she could actually feel his heart and soul going into the music. She wanted to weep and jump for joy all at once when she heard his music. His fingers nimbly slid over the keys as he played.  
  
Erik often thought of his mother when he played his organ. With each crescendo he was reminded of her life, the way she lived. And the way her life ended so horribly. Her name had been Madeline. She was a daughter of a wealthy and respected man from Paris. She was meant for great things in life. Madeline had been beautiful, long black hair that had curled about her waist, brown eyes that were flecked with gold, and a slender body. In her youth she been merry and happy, but that was only in her youth. Only a day after she had turned seventeen she gave herself in an unholy union to a man she had only known for a month. She had been forced to grow up the day she found out she was pregnant. The father of the child had run away to Rome in order to escape the responsibilities and the shame that went along with fathering a child out of bonds of marriage. Madeline had done everything in her power to end her life and the child that grew within her rather than face the shame, but she had always failed. Her parents were angered when they heard of her actions and sent her away to their country house located outside of Paris to wait for her time.  
  
Madeline gave birth after many long excruciating hours of labor. The mid-wife's scream echoed in the newborn's ears as she took her first look at the child fresh from his mother's womb. The mid-wife struggled to gather her composure and was trembling so much she almost dropped the baby. Weak from labor Madeline demanded to see the child, and with shaking hands the mid-wife gently delivered the child into her waiting arms. Madeline slowly drew back the blanket's edge from the child's face only to scream in fear and horror. Words flew from the mid-wife's mouth. She was praying against demons, as though an infant could be spawn of the devil. Madeline fought the urge to hurl the child against the wall as if that would end the nightmare she was facing. The right side of the infant's face was badly mangled. And even some of the skull was showing through where skin did not cover the forehead. His lips were twisted on the right side and his eyes were a golden-yellow hue. His right eye was a little more of an intense yellowish-gold color than his left. Only his black hair reminded the world that he was her child. Madeline draped the cloth lightly back over the child's face, making sure he could still breathe. She could bear to look at his disfigurement no longer. The mid-wife stood silently across from the bed. The women locked eyes with each other, and could not speak. In their minds came the image of the innocent child with the hideous face. Madeline laid her head back exhausted against the pillow which was soaked with sweat. The mid-wife suddenly remembered her duties and helped her mistress become more comfortable. After she had done all she could for the worn out woman she began to leave the room, but stopped after giving an uncertain glance at the cradle in which the baby lay.  
  
"What will his name be, my lady?" The mid-wife asked. Madeline turned her pale face towards the woman. Her eyes were closed in exhaustion. Her words were barely audible.  
  
"His name is Erik, it means eternal ruler and forever strong," She whispered. "He shall need such a name to get him through life,"  
  
Erik had heard the story from the mid-wife's mouth before she had died. By giving him a name, his mother had granted him life and a place in the world, but what kind of place was it? He had been abused, both verbally and physically for his whole life. Why should that change now? He wished his mother had succeeded in killing herself. Then he wouldn't have had to live a cursed life. Suddenly movement behind one of the pillars brought the world crashing back into his awareness. A flash of a lavender sleeve and lovely cerulean eyes peeked out from behind a pillar. _**Christine**._ He breathed a sigh. She had no idea that these times when he was composing on Don Juan Triumphant, his life's work, were private. He weaved portions of his life into his piece by transforming them into music. It required his full concentration. He resigned himself to the fact that he would have to resume his composing later. He slowly ceased his play on the organ and picked up his violin out of its case. He played a slow waltz on the horsehair strings. His eyes closed in concentration.  
  
Christine watched in fascination as he transferred instruments. The heavenly sound of the violin reached her ears. The sounds soothed her soul. She closed her eyes. In her imagination she saw a ballet dancer gracefully spread her arms out and begin to dance to the sound of the violin as Erik played. The ballerina danced on as if floating in a cloud. The piece he was playing could be played by anyone yet not hold the same kind of passion that Erik possessed.  
  
"You can come out now, Mon Ange," Erik said softly, continuing to play. Shock rushed through her body. He had known she was there! Her eyes whirled open. She slowly got up off the floor and inched herself from out behind the pillar. A blush crept up her cheeks.  
  
"Forgive me," She looked away from him. The violin music threatened to sweep her away in a flood of tears. She almost always cried when she heard it. It was so beautiful, and it reminded her of her father.  
  
"There is nothing to forgive, Christine,"  
  
"I imposed," She insisted.  
  
"Never," He answered. He slowly stilled the bow against the strings of the violin, and set it gently down on the top of the organ. He studied her for a moment before deciding what he would say next. "Let it be said that you are the kind of gentle person who would never impose, only loan her presence to the room," He smiled slightly. "Now that we have that settled, won't you please accompany me to dinner, my lady?" He asked playing the part of a perfect gentleman, and offered his arm.  
  
"I'd be delighted," Christine laughed softly and accepted his arm. The sound of it was music to his ears. 


	24. Mirrors to the Soul

A/N: Sorry for not updating in a while (which it has only been a few days since I last updated, but hey I'm apologizing anyways...lol) I hope you like this chapter, it involves a lot of "Erik brooding," a little "E/C fluff," and even some "shirtless Erik," thrown in for good measure. Lol!R&R!  
  
Erik couldn't sleep. He had lain awake in bed that night with a harsh pounding in his temple. It had not lessened. He grimaced and rubbed his forehead with his left hand. He rolled over from his stomach to his back and looked up at the dark ceiling. Usually to soothe his headache spells he would play his violin, but he dared not. He did not want to awaken Christine. He closed his eyes against the pain. In his mind there was no peace or sanctuary from both physical and mental anguish. For every time he closed his eyes he saw images from his past...  
  
_ Madeline had locked herself in her bedroom again with a large bottle of wine. Little Erik had sat himself close by her door in an attempt to reconcile with his mother, thinking he had done something to offend her. He was only seven and his young brain could not yet comprehend why she was so angry at him. She only got intoxicated when there was something bothering her, which was much of the time. Suddenly the door swung open and Madeline stood there looking down at him in her thin nightgown and robe, the empty wine bottle was gripped rather precariously in her right hand. Her hair was disheveled and her face showed signs that she had been crying. She squinted slightly as if trying to focus.  
  
"Mama," Erik smiled up at her rather uneasily. The alcohol did not ever improve her spirits and she was usually rough with him after a drinking binge. He averted his eyes after a moment.  
  
"Where is your... mask Erik?" She asked unsteadily trying to tip his chin up so that he would look at her.  
  
"Under a pillow on the settee mama," He said honestly, his voice was barely a whisper.  
  
"I told you never...ever to take it off," She spoke in a deadly calm tone making him try to get out of her grip. She grabbed his shoulders and brought him closer to her.  
  
"I'm sorry, my face just gets so hot underneath the mask, that I...I took it off," Erik stuttered. He felt her fingernails digging into his skin.  
  
"I told you,"  
  
"What is amiss mother? Why must I wear it?" He asked. Some of his unruly black hair fell into his eyes.  
  
Madeline's voice was shaking with both rage and fear. It was also reflected in her eyes. She was frightened of her own son. "Why didn't you listen?" "I told you." She repeated swaying unsteadily. Erik grasped his mother's arms in an attempt to keep her from falling. She brushed his hands away from her.  
  
"But why?" He asked softly. He feared a truthful answer. She had hidden him away from mirrors and his reflection. He had never once seen what he looked like, not even in the reflection of a metal spoon. Madeline had replaced all of them with wooden ones. "You wear no mask, but yet I must?"  
  
"Put it back on! Erik!" She slapped him. He wasn't expecting it and his head snapped back with the force of the blow. He tasted blood in his mouth. The alcohol was affecting her ability to reason and think straight.  
  
"Mama?" He cried out. He reached his arms towards her in a pleading motion. "Why are you hurting me??"  
  
"PLEASE! I can no longer bear to look at you!" She screamed at him. She let go of his shoulders causing him to stumble and fall back. She shielded her eyes.  
  
"Why?? Why? Why do I make you hate me so?" Erik was crying now. Why did she not want to look at him? He had never seen his reflection in the mirror. Was his appearance that horrible to the eye? He watched his mother crouch down on the floor and lay her head against the wall in the corner. Her sobbing made him feel all the more terrible. He slowly crawled over to her after a few moments.  
"Mama," He whispered. His eyes were still wet from tears yet to be shed. Madeline moaned softly and turned her head away from him. "I love you," He heard her sharply intake her next breath. She slowly turned her eyes back towards him. Her eyes were so hollow.. There was no light left in her once bright orbs, now all there was, was darkness. They frightened him. She was going insane "Did you hear me...I love you!" Erik grasped his mother's hand. Madeline struggled to yank her hand away from his grasp. She shook her head at him, her dirty black curls also bounced dully on her shoulders with the movement. Erik's heart plummeted down at his mother's reaction to his touch. He let go and she calmed once more.  
  
"Erik," She whispered, startling him. He did not know that she would speak to him. "Bring me the square package from the bottom of my wardrobe," She said softly. He hurried into her spacious room and carefully rummaged through her wardrobe, finally finding what he was searching for. He quickly walked back to where she was sitting and handed her the heavy package. She reverently unwrapped it and let the brown paper fall away from the item it had once enclosed. "You wished to see what you look like. I can only hope God grants you strength enough to bear such a burden," Madeline watched his face intently. Erik saw that for a moment her eyes became bright and unclouded, but then they became as they were, full of darkness. She handed him the object. He knew at once that it was a hand held mirror, he had seen one before, but never had gotten close enough to see his face. His heart jumped. His mother had handed him the mirror, so that the glass faced to the floor. All he had to do was turn it over and he would be able to see his reflection! _

_ Suddenly Madeline stood and hurried into her room and locked her door. He could hear her sobs again echo ominously off the marble flooring. He shuddered. Why did she react about his face? Was he a monster? Ever so slowly he turned the mirror over, closing his eyes, waiting for the perfect moment to open them. The moment came, and his eyes flew open. He heard someone scream a loud and terrible cry of anguish as if they were dieing, and his world began to grow dark and misty. Then before he truly had fainted he realized that the person who had cried out had been him. He truly was a monster..._

_  
_ Erik slowly opened his eyes and clenched his teeth. His hatred for his mother did not wan as the years passed him by. It had grown up inside his soul like an infant flame, until it had become a roaring out of control fire. He grimaced and slipped out of his bed, his hand went instinctively towards his mask. He sighed softly, realizing that his silken mask was indeed safely in place. He donned a light white cotton undershirt which brushed his black pants that he had neglected to take off the night before. Maybe a small walk would ease his headache.  
The door to Christine's bedroom was cracked open. The light from flickering candles shone through the crack, causing the illumination to spill out over the floor. He couldn't resist the impulse to check on her, and to make sure she wasn't just a figment of his imagination. Erik slowly opened the door and peered into the darkness. He made out her small form in the shadows. She lay underneath the silken covers in the canopy bed. Her dark brown hair curled around her shoulders, and her soft lashes lay delicately on her ivory skin. She was so beautiful. His heart caught in mid- beat at the sight of her, and his hand curled around the doorknob a little tighter. His mouth shaped the word that his heart had spoken all along. Christine. He watched her slowly clutch the embroidered sheet, and then relax her hand once more. He hoped she was dreaming something pleasant. She was a child at heart, always bright-eyed and hopeful. She always tried to find the good in someone. He just hoped she could find it in him. Suddenly he noticed that she was holding something in her right hand. Curious, he slowly edged his way over to the bedside and gently eased her hand off the item. It was a feather. He quickly looked over at her to make sure that she was still sleeping and then turned it over in his hand to gaze at it more closely. It was a swan feather. Tiny words were etched in gold along the stem of the feather. They read;  
  
_Little Ange,  
  
I hope you fly far  
  
Great Amour, Papa_  
  
Erik felt as if he had somehow trespassed on a personal memory. Guiltily he gently lay the swan feather back in her palm. Little Ange. She was that to her father as well as to him, and she would remain his little angel forever. He placed his fingertips to his lips and softly blew a small kiss to her sleeping form.  
  
"Dormir bien, mon cygne, Sleep well my swan," He whispered as he exited, blending in with the other shadows in the room. His heart was calm for the first time that night...


	25. Fear of the Night

A/N: I decided to write a little E/C fluff before I had her do something stupid like unmask him, which could possibly be written into the next chapter, but I'm going to take a while on that chapter to make sure I get it right. So I hope you enjoy the quiet before the storm, and in Erik's case it's going to be one heck of a storm...lol. Hope you like the fluff! R&R.  
  
_ The candle light seemed to make the mask glow. It was intoxicating and enchanting to watch. Christine blinked, but the mysterious yearning to discover what was under the mask did not go away. Erik was only an arms length away. She could reach out and slowly slip the mask away. She reached out her fingers, but drew back when they brushed the silky soft material of the mask. Erik turned to look at her. His eyes asked a question which she had no answer for.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" He asked. She reached out once more, her eyes flitting over to look into his. His eyes glowed with resignation. He would let her pull off his mask without a word. He would only ask "Why?" Her fingers rested on the mask, unwilling to take the step forward to slide it off, and unwilling to take a step backwards. She didn't feel afraid. It was a strange sensation. She didn't feel any remorse whatsoever by ripping away this man's mask to uncover the secret which she longed to understand. Her fingers paused as if by their accord, giving her one last chance to turn back. She ignored it. Christine slowly slid the mask down off his cheek._  
  
"Christine?" Erik whispered in her ear. She jerked away, causing him to take a step back. "Are you well my dear? You fell asleep in your chair."  
  
"Oh...why yes." Christine answered softly. It had been a dream. She had fallen asleep. Erik was gazing at her intently.  
  
"Are you sure? You look...so pale,"  
  
"I'm fine," She tried to reassure him. He turned away. "Erik?" She whispered at his retreating form.  
  
"Yes?" He turned around, he looked so ready to help her in any way he could that she felt ashamed that even in her dreams she would wish to unmask this man. But the desire to find out what lay beneath was so powerful. She could hardly suppress the urge.  
  
"Thank you," She smiled.  
  
"For what, Mon Ange?" He asked quietly. His voice made her tremble. His eyes shone like to bright stars in the heavens.  
  
"For asking if I was well. I have not had many people do that in my life." Christine said honestly. He raised his eyes to meet hers.  
  
"My pleasure." He said almost breathlessly. She had shocked him. He sat down across from her at his organ. His face was contorted into concentration. He looked as if it was a struggle to control his emotions. Christine looked away, feeling as if she was intruding on a private thought.  
  
Christine lifted her chin slightly, and squared her shoulders. Sitting in the high backed chair for an hour was making her muscles sore. Erik sat at his organ scratching with his quill that had been dipped in black ink. He was composing on his life's work Don Juan Triumphant. She had been sitting quietly in the corner with a book he had lent her. It described Persia and all of its glory and mystery. The book was like a diary of the land, written in sweeping French cursive. Erik said he had required it from a traveling peddler, but Christine secretly believed that he had written the book himself. She turned the page and pretended to be reading, while really glancing over at him once and a while. He would mutter something and then take his hand and smear off the wet black note that he had just scratched on the page if he didn't think it was right. She stifled a smile. His mouth was drawn into a frown as he tried to concentrate. Suddenly she heard him mutter a curse underneath his breath. He looked up and over at her and caught her eye. A small smile flickered over his lips. She looked quickly back down at the leather bound book in her hands. A soft blush spread over her cheeks. To have and hold the attention of such an intense man was such an awkward experience. An experience that she had never had in her life. Erik looked back down at the keys of his organ and slowly settled his fingers back down on them. He played a few notes by heart from his opera. Christine settled back into the chair and closed her eyes. His eyes were also closed, for he knew the notes perfectly without having to look at his sheet music.  
  
"I don't understand," She murmured after a moment of listening to him play. He opened his eyes and looked over at her.  
  
"What do you mean?" He asked ceasing his play. She opened her own eyes.  
  
"I do not know the story of your piece Erik, but it sounds like someone is in love." Christine smiled softly. Then her eyes widened. "But not really love, more like a passionate lust for another person," Erik studied her for a moment.  
  
"Is that what you hear?" He asked thoughtfully.  
  
"I don't know. In one note I hear that this person is truly in a binding kind of love with someone. But in another note I hear that this person really just desires flesh."  
  
"They desire only flesh. It's human nature." Erik shrugged.  
  
"I think that they should desire more than just that. There is more to life than the desiring of another. People should desire love. It feeds the soul like water to a tree. Love can accomplish so much!"  
  
"Is this what you believe?" He asked.  
  
"Why yes..." She looked up at him in surprise. "I know not everyone does. No poet, no scholar, or teacher can express how much love can achieve,"  
  
"You're quoting someone,"  
  
"My father."  
  
"He sounds like a great man,"  
  
"He was," Christine replied quietly. Her eyes glowed with the thoughts of her past. "He was my strength and my light. When he died...a part of me died as well." She looked down. "It's in the past now. It shouldn't affect me anymore,"  
  
"I understand," Erik said softly. "More than you know." Christine gazed at him.  
  
"Are you writing this piece for the woman you once loved?"  
  
"That woman was my mother," Erik said gruffly. "And no, this Opera is not in honor of her. She deserves nothing dedicated to her memory."  
  
"Oh," Christine mouthed the word. She could see the viable battle going on in Erik's eyes. His mother had done something to forever imprint herself in Erik's mind as an enemy. She wondered what it had been. "I...didn't mean any harm." She whispered.  
  
Later that evening Erik at in the dimly lit music room. He was alone. He had extinguished some of the candles after Christine had retired to her bedroom. He didn't particularly enjoy the light, but since Christine was afraid of the dark he had willingly obliged her wishes. He shouldn't have been so harsh with her that afternoon. She had not meant to hurt him. He sighed audibly.  
  
"Christine." He said her name softly. He cared for her so much, more than life. She was so innocent, and so pure. The way she looked at him made him feel like a fire was burning in his soul. The way she had talked about love was not like some girlish fantasy. It was a woman's desire for true love. She longed for someone, as did he. He knew in his heart that he was not what she longed for. His breast was filled with an aching that he had not known since...his mother had left him and the gypsies had taken him away. Just thinking about it brought back emotions from the past that he did not care for. Hatred whirled up in him and he angrily swept his pages of music off the organ. Curses flew from his mouth. His darling Christine would leave him, and he would be left alone like he always had. If she did, her leaving him would extinguish the only flame in his heart. His hand curled in a fist. He would die.  
  
"Oh Christine." He whispered. He had seen her staring at his mask. He shuddered at the thought. If she found out what lay beneath his mask it would kill her. Many men had died from seeing his face. It was a horrible sight to behold. His mother has shunned him, and so had the world. If his looks had not mattered where would he have gone in the world? He longed to be free of the screams and shouts of "Hideous Monster." He was in chains to the darkness and to his mask. They were his only friends in a world full of hatred. Then there was his light...his love, Christine. She had not been tested. If he gave her the choice of whether she wished to rip his mask away or not, than she would most surely take away his only protection from the world.  
  
Erik lifted his head up. He thought he had heard something. His hearing was something that he had particularly honed. He knew that he was not just hearing things. He stood and grasped a candle from a nearby stand, and slowly walked towards the sound. He felt urgency that he didn't understand. It sounded liked someone was crying. A woman was crying. Christine. He hurried towards her room, and stopped outside her door. Her sobs tore through his heart. It wasn't just simple crying, it was heart wrenching sobs. He slowly pushed the door open.  
  
"Christine?" He whispered into the darkness. The sobbing stopped suddenly.  
  
"Who is there?" She called out.  
  
"Erik," He said gently. "It's Erik." He lifted his candle up so that she could see his face in the darkness. Some how all of her candles had burned out. He quickly moved around to relight them all.  
  
"Did I disturb you?" She asked anxiously.  
  
"Of course not," He replied honestly. "Rarely does anyone disturb me down here, except for Carlotta. That woman's voice carries," Erik hid a smile. He shouldn't be sarcastic at such a time. Christine was obviously upset about something. "What is amiss, Mon Rose?"  
  
"The candles burned out...I don't know how..." She whispered between soft sobs. He looked over at her in the darkness. He finished lighting all of the candles and stood at the foot of the bed. He did not know how to reach out to her with out frightening her.  
  
"I used to be frightened of the dark," He said softly. He could make out her face in the dim flickering light of the candles. Her eyes were wide and they were still filled with tears. He wondered why the darkness frightened her so badly.  
  
"You? But you..."  
  
"Are the Phantom?" He interjected. "We all are afraid of something,"  
  
"How did you ever conquer your fear?" Her voice trembled.  
  
"I grew to like the dark, one, because it hid me, and two, because the darkness is so calming, rather than the harsh reality of daylight. The darkness is like a dream. Nothing feels real without light. A sweet melodic dream."  
  
"You make it sound so wonderful. I have too many nightmares when I sleep. I can never be fully comfortable with out light." Christine cried. Tears still slipped down her soft cheeks. Her cerulean eyes were so blue because of the tears. He gazed at her. She was wearing a soft white night gown with lace that trimmed the sleeves and high neckline. She had chosen wisely, for it got cold down underground.  
  
"One day you'll be free of your chains," He said as he walked over to the bed side. "As I will be of mine." He thought silently. Christine slowly sat up in bed. Her curly brown hair streamed around her shoulders. He longed to make her smile again. She was so pale and she was still trembling. "Is that why you were crying?" He asked wanting to be sure that was why she was upset.  
  
"Yes..." She whispered. "I have no moon to light my room like I used to have upstairs. It makes me frightened when I wake up with out a light!" She cried. "I feel like I'm drowning in the dark, and that I'm being suffocated!" Tears fell down her cheeks faster and faster. She was becoming hysterical.  
  
"Christine!" His voice echoed loudly through the room. Her pitiful cries suddenly ceased. She looked up at him wide-eyed. A single tear trickled down her glistening cheek. Raising his voice to her was better than the alternative...slapping her. She was working herself into hysteria. "Calm yourself," He said softly. "The dark cannot hurt you, Mon Petite. I will never let it." Erik whispered. He watched her closely. Her eyes widened at what he had said.  
  
"You won't?" She breathed. "But how can you say that?"  
  
"Trust me," He said firmly. "Nothing will harm you as long as you remain in the Opera House, not even the shadows will hurt you."  
  
"Promise me," Christine whispered anxiously.  
  
"I swear," Erik said firmly. "Now lay back Mon Rose and sleep," Christine looked visibly relieved. "Go to sleep my dear." He whispered. He slowly left the room, but didn't shut the door all of the way, waiting outside for a few minutes to make sure she was not upset anymore. After he had made sure she was well, he quietly shut the door all of the way. He sank down to the floor, his head in his hands. She reminded him so much of when he was a child. Young, innocent, and afraid. What was he going to do? He had given his heart away, and he would never be able to get it back.  
  
_"Christine..."_ He murmured. 


	26. What Horror Lies Beneath?

A/N: Be sure to read my one shot if you want to, it's called _"The Dying Rose"_ Fan fiction kept taking it off (for no reason) so all my reviews got erased off the site. I hope you enjoy this chapter. We must remember that Christine was very much a child in spirit and in heart when she ripped off Erik's mask. Only afterwards does she grow up. This is really the turning point in the story...R&R...  
  
The nightmare of darkness had left her and morning had finally dawned. Although there was no sunlight to wake her, Christine awoke early in the morning. If she would have been above ground she would have seen a glorious sun rise above the snow covered streets of Paris. The room was still quite dark, but the darkness of night seeming had been lifted. Erik's house was silent. There was no music drifting through the corridors. "The master of the house must be sleeping." She mused silently. She dressed slowly into a silky azure dress with long sleeves and a sweeping skirt. She put her curly hair up into a bun, and placed a sapphire bejeweled hair comb into it. After smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress she slowly pulled the door open.  
  
"Bonjour, petite chanson oiseau," Erik spoke his greeting in French. _Good morning little song bird._ She nearly jumped. She quickly gathered her composure befor looking up into his eyes. Still all in it's self the task of raising her eyes to meet his was daunting.  
  
"Erik." She breathed. Her eyes were wide with fright. He smiled darkly and made her spine tingle with the action.  
  
"I'm sorry if I frightened you,"  
  
"I just wasn't expecting you," She said softly looking down at the tips of her satin shoes.  
  
"Please forgive the intrusion. I came to see if you were well. After last night's spell I was wondering if you were ill." Erik put it so lightly. Christine almost blushed at the thought of last night's episode. She hadn't had a spell like that since a few days after her father's death. And then in the dark no one had been there to comfort her. She had almost ended her life that night, only the thought that she would someday soon be greeted by her Ange es Musique, her Angel of Music spurred her onward through life. She remembered the scene far to well.  
  
"I feel well enough," She admitted.  
  
"You're sure?" He asked. Concern darkened his eyes.  
  
"I am being honest with you," She said, chided him for not trusting her.  
  
"In that case, would you join me to break the fast?" He asked her with hesitation hinting in his voice.  
  
"I'd be honored," She smiled and dipped her head shyly. She followed him through the winding corridors and halls towards their destination, the small dining room.  
  
Christine made her way back to her room that afternoon to rest before their lesson that evening. As she sat at the vanity table and took a brush to her hair, taking it down from the bun she began thinking. Erik had always preferred their lessons to be in the evening, before dinner. Their lessons were filled with things she didn't understand. Such as the techniques he used to make her voice stronger. She did not question his judgment. He had far more expertise on such matters than she did. He would always sit at his organ or hold his violin so stoically whenever he was teaching her. She once saw her quite collected teacher glance over at her quite venerably. He was hiding emotions that he was not speaking of to her. He had never touched her. Never let her feel his hand against her palm or shoulder. Whenever he would adjust her posture he would use the edge of his opera cloak over his fingers so that she would only feel the silky softness of the black material. She had noticed his hesitation when it came to being physically close to her. Why did he feel that way? Did he think she would shun him? Why? Christine felt uncertain about it. She was afraid she would hurt him in some way with out realizing it. Their relationship was as thin as fragile glass. One wrong move and the glass would break.

She had not thought of the outside world for many hours. What were the managers doing now that she was gone? What would Raoul do? Raoul!! Her brush fell into her lap. "He must be sick with worry!" She whispered aloud. What would he do? Who would tell him she was well? Who would take her place as the Prima Donna? Would Erik keep her with him forever? No, she knew he wouldn't. He had said himself that once her voice was magnificent he would return her to the surface to begin a long reign as Prima Donna of the Paris Opera House. Her hands slid around the brush's handle. She tried to calm her fluttering heart, but she could not. What would happen to her?  
  
Christine peeked out into the empty hall several hours later. It was only a few minutes before Erik would expect her for her lesson and she had decided to arrive early. He was not waiting for her at her door this time. She couldn't believe his appearance outside her door that morning had truly happened. He was so interested in her well being. She shivered at the way his eyes had lit up when she had appeared. Most of the time she could not tell what he was thinking by looking into his eyes, but sometimes they were the very things that communicated to her what he felt when he looked at her. So much longing and desire was reflected through his yellow-golden orbs in a mere instance. She slowly and silently shut her door behind her. She quickly moved towards the music room. She didn't have that much time to spare, and Erik's temper seemed easily angered so she didn't wish to arrive late.  
  
A soft scratching noise of a quill tip meeting parchment paper met her ears when she entered the music room. After a quick glance at the back of her teacher she realized he was in deep concentration. He was composing on his life's work. He had told her only a few details about his opera, wishing to keep most of it secret until it was finished. He had told her solemnly that once it was finished it would be the end of his life's meaning. Christine quickly hid herself behind a pillar. She didn't know why she felt the need to hide herself, but she acted on this strange emotion. She looked quietly around the pillar so that only half of her face was showing. Erik dipped his quill into the black ink pot that sat on the top of the organ. He played no notes to give her any clue of what exactly he was composing. He turned slightly on the bench showing some of his mask. It's white silk was alluring to her. What was he hiding? What was he trying to keep secret from her?  
  
Erik dipped the quill tip into the small jar of black ink and placed it back up on the parchment paper to shape another note. He hadn't been this focused since Christine had arrived. Usually whenever he composed he went days and even a week without food. His mind and soul were so deeply intertwined into this opera that if it remain unfinished or was ever lost, he would wither away. The opera was about betrayal, lies, and a deep burning passionate desire for another human being. He reached up and grasped another clean page of parchment paper to begin yet another page. Even he did not know how his opera would end. He simply let the story flow from his mind onto the paper. It worked well that way. The characters were perfect, and even he knew that. Their destinies were all intertwined into events that made up his opera. Then suddenly Erik's concentrated thought process left him. A single name, seemingly burned into his mind, once again reappeared and shattered all of the peace he had. Christine. What was she doing that very moment? It was hard not to let himself dwell on her every moment of the day. He was successful at building a wall around himself from thinking about her so much during the day, but at night it was a different story. At night he could not control his dreams. Oh how he wished he could. His dreams always revolved around Christine. Ever since he had heard her sing, her presence was with him whether he wished it or not. She was his obsession, his joy, and his passion. Erik reached back up to dip the quill into the ink once more. He had to dismiss her from his mind, and concentrate on the task at hand. How she lingered in his thoughts...  
  
Christine tilted her head slightly as she gazed at the mask. What would he do if she slipped it off? She shook her head slowly. Wouldn't he have shown what was underneath if he had wanted her to see it? No, he might not have wished to bother her with something she might have thought not at all relevant. But maybe if she slipped it off for him? Maybe he wouldn't mind her doing so. She silently crept out from behind the pillar. Several times she was afraid he was going to turn and catch her, but he never did. This did not at all strengthen her resolve. Something in her heart told her that what she was doing was wrong, but curiosity overruled it. She was behind him now. All she had to do now was reach out. Slowly and with a trembling hand she reached out and whisked the mask away... 


	27. Stranger Than You Dreamt It

A/N: I'm sorry this was so short. I hope I captured the scene the way it was meant to be. Tell me what you think. R&R...

_ She silently crept out from behind the pillar. Several times she was afraid he was going to turn and catch her, but he never did. This did not at all strengthen her resolve. Something in her heart told her that what she was doing was wrong, but curiosity overruled it. She was behind him now. All she had to do now was reach out. Slowly and with a trembling hand she reached out and whisked the mask away..._  
  
For a moment, nothing happened. The air was filled with uncertainty. But one thing was for sure. Christine held the pale white mask in her hands. Erik did not turn to face her immediately so she could not see what emotions flashed across his face.  
  
"Christine!" The name flew from his mouth in anguished scream. Terror welled up into her soul. She tentatively took a step back. What had she done? She still clutched the offending item tightly in one hand. Erik's face had now contorted from one of shock to that of a fury that could not have been matched by the most powerful storm. He turned to face her. A scream died on Christine's lips as she looked on with mounting horror at what she had uncovered. She took another step back, and Erik matched it with a step forward towards her. She raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with fear and horror. Curses rolled out of his mouth, all of them directed at her. Never in her life had she heard so many harsh words. His eyes were blazing white hot flames of fury. She felt like he was going to burn her alive with the intensity that burned in his golden orbs. The right side of his face was finally naked to her. And she almost fainted in terror at what she saw. The skin and half nose on the right side were misshapen and deformed. The skin became almost nonexistent an inch above his brow. Some of his skull could be seen where the skin had not ever formed. It was the most grotesque and a horrible sight she had ever had to behold. Christine stumbled backwards in her haste to run from him, but did not fall. Erik was coming towards her with a terrible rage and hate burning in his eyes. Christine tore her eyes away from his face and looked down at the mask in her hand. It lay innocently against her cold palm. The silk no longer looked comforting to her.  
  
"Look what you have done!!" He roared at her. More curses poured forth from his lips. She could barely move away from him, her limbs were trembling with terror. ""Look at me! You evil conniving witch! You deceitful spiteful little demon!! How dare you!" He thundered. "Well look at me!!" He was still coming at her. She had almost had run out of space to retreat. Her eyes were wide with fear. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. He had reached her at last. He took the edge of his cloak and placed it over his hand like he always had before touching her, and roughly grabbed her hand so that she could not wrench away.  
  
"You wanted so badly to see my face... so look!" Erik could feel Christine's body trembling with fear. "Look upon the face in which a mother's scorn was earned!!" Christine turned her face away from his intense gaze. "No, look at me!" He ordered her. He took his cloak covered hand and roughly turned her face back in his direction. "Look at me," He said his voice becoming dark and lower in tone. His hand was still resting firmly on the side of her jaw. She slowly raised her eyes, she stared first at the right side of his lips which were also deformed, and then steadily raised her gaze higher. She saw his hideous cheek, his skin so mutilated it no longer resembled human flesh. She moved her eyes upwards until they met his unwavering gaze. His eyes brought fear to her heart. It wasn't just the fury and the anger that made her want to run away, it was mournful lonely expression that made her tremble. Christine looked down at the object in her hands. The mask. Her prize. She wanted to throw the mask away. She had just ripped away this man's dignity. What had she done? Even she couldn't fully realize the magnitude of her actions at that moment.  
  
"Is this what you wanted to see?" His emotion filled voice startled her out of her reverie. She mutely shook her head. "How dare you." He whispered. His eyes were dulled with pain. "Christine?" He asked hoarsely. She took a step back slipping out of his now gentle grip, wanting to get away from him. She couldn't be with him another moment. As she stepped back she suddenly tripped in her haste to be away. She fell the marble floor, her palms stinging by the force of the impact as she hit the ground. Her dress billowed out across the marble flooring. Erik stood across from her. His back was rigid, while his hands hung limply at his side. His face was in a kind of a half shadow half light so that the right side of his face was in the glow of the candle light and the other side was not. His deformity was laid bare for her to see. He suddenly sank to his knees, so that he too was now on the floor. She closed her eyes when she heard him weeping. Deep body racking sobs that seemed to shake the very floor. No, that couldn't have been it. Then she realized she was weeping too. Tears slid down her cheeks. She heard him murmuring her name.  
  
"Christine..." He moaned. "Why did you have to see? Why?" He wept softly. His head lay in his hands. Warm tears fell into his icy palms. _"Christine..."_  
  
She lifted up her head and looked over at him. Pity and sadness filled her eyes along with the tears. She slowly crawled over to where he lay on the ground, and timidly reached out her hand. In her hand she held his mask. The white mask glinted innocently in the candle light. She tried speaking, but she could think of no words that would remedy the situation. A tear slid down her face. She was still trembling with fright. He had truly frightened her.  
  
"Erik..." She whispered, finally able to say something. He glanced up at her, his golden eyes gleaming with the mist of unshed tears. She averted her eyes from him. She almost closed her eyes once more but thought better of it. Every time she closed her eyes she remembered the sight of his mask- less face. A shudder swept up her body. Erik tentatively reached out and slowly grasped his mask. There was only a split second when their hands almost brushed, but it was not to be. His lips formed the question she could not answer; "Why?" Christine turned her face away, unwilling to take a chance that she might accidentally look once more upon the hideous sight. Erik took that opportunity to slip his mask back on. She glanced back over at him. His resolve had returned to him, but from that moment on they would never be the same. What Christine had done had changed their relationship forever. Erik stood, and gazed uncertainly down at her. He was unable to speak for the longest time. Christine still kept her eyes to the floor. Her thoughts raced on, while silence held reign between them.

"Come, we must return," He said finally...


	28. Return to the Surface

A/N: It's hard when no book that I've read gives account on how Christine felt when Erik took her back to the surface. Ah well...You know the routine. I would love to know what you think...good, bad, or ugly! Oh and If you get a chance tell me what you think of the Dying Rose! R&R...  
  
The mirror had been closed only for a few seconds and already Christine wanted to weep. Erik's chilly demeanor had frightened her. As he had walked her back through the tunnels he had not once spoken to her, except to warn her to watch her footing, and even that seemed like a polite statement. She slowly sank down in the darkness of her dressing room. After she had stepped through the threshold of the mirror back into the familiarity of her dressing room all seemed even more foreign to her.   
  
"Christine," He had said softly, meeting her gaze. His tone was harsh, yet spoken gently. "You must be prepared for a change. Your triumph will come, and all of Paris will bow at your feet. Then you will take on the world. You possess the voice of an Angel, no one can resist."   
  
"I don't want the world, Erik," She had whispered, looking away. "I just want to be happy."  
  
"Than my Opera House is not a place for you and nor will it ever be." His eyes narrowed at her in the darkness. She forgot her fear of the dark, she was standing in front of someone who was made up of the darkness, hatred, and deceit, and that terrified her even more. It wasn't his face that would haunt her in her nightmares. It was his soul. "Sleep now, Christine, I will find you when I need you," His voice became softer, and his eyes looked her over gently. Even after what she had done to him he had not beat her or punished her in any way. But in her heart she knew that wasn't true. He hadn't physically touched her. His cries for mercy from the world and from her had been enough to almost rip her heart out, and that in it's self was enough pain for her. The mirror closed, blocking her out from his world, and he from hers.   
  
Erik pressed his hand up against the glass. She could no longer see him, and if she could she would have seen a torn man. Curse that woman! He had been so weak...and whenever he felt weak...he felt like a mortal. He could still feel her soft fingers ripping away his only defense from the world. His mask flew from his face as if driven by an unseen force, as if the fates had wanted this to happen. They tortured him, taunted him, and left unending reminders about his past. And Christine would just become another part of his twisted past. No. Not if he could help it. She was too precious to him for him to lose her to fate. They were bound together in one fate and he could feel it whenever he looked into her blue eyes. His hand slid from the glass. His feelings for her could not affect his thinking. That had caused his mask to be ripped away. She had no right. Or did she? Did the world have a right to see his deformity? To laugh, to scoff, to scream? He had given enough to the world, and now it was time for him to take from it, and he would take whatever he wished...  
  
Christine dared not turn her back on the mirror for fear that Erik would come back through it. She clutched her hand against the silky material of the dress she was wearing. It wasn't hers. She felt like a little girl in her mother's clothes, shy and demur. She slowly backed away from the pane of glass, and out of the room. When she had shut the door to her dressing room she almost fainted. Had that been real? Had it all been some sick nightmare? No. It had been real. What she would have given for a nightmare about her father, for even a nightmare was better than this reality.   
  
"Oh dear mercy..." She whispered. What was she going to do? What would become of her? Only great things if Erik had anything to do with it. She knew in her heart that she had not even see any of Erik's true power, to him the mirror, his home, and the labyrinth had all been paltry tricks. Something someone would show at parties to impress guests. No, she hadn't even seen any of Erik's power. Her body was shaking from the sudden change in temperature, for whenever she was near Erik she felt icy and cold. It was like being near a dead body. She shuddered. Now she could feel her body warming a little. If only she could crack the hard demeanor that he wore like his mask. If only she could see a little bit more of his soul. What she had seen she didn't know how to interpret. She placed a dainty hand to her throat in horror. She had been blind to the truth all along. He cared for her. Why else would he be doing this for her?  
  
"Oh Papa! There is not one greater fool than I!" She cried out in the darkness. She had walked into a trap, not one Erik was even aware of. She had walked into his heart and now that door would never close. They were locked into a battle that would not end without tragedy. She could almost hear the shadows whispering to her.   
  
_"Well? Do you love him back?"_ The voices asked her. She lifted her face and closed her eyes. Her mind was reeling with shock over the events of the past few days. Well did she care for him? Did she love him? She did not know. Erik was so complicated. He made every emotion feel new and terrifying all at once. What was she going to do? Even she didn't know...  
  
A/N: Sorry this is short...more to come! 


	29. Pursuit

A/N: Ok I know a lot of you hate Raoul and you hate it that Christine's heart flutters every time she thinks of him, but hey! Wouldn't yours if a hot guy was asking about you?? Hope you like it! Sorry this is another short one. R&R...

"Where is Christine Daae?" The Vicomte de Chagny asked bursting into the manger's office. The two managers looked up from their desks in surprise. His clothes were not in their usual orderly appearance, and his face was what caught the attention of the managers. His eyes were dark with questions he longed to breathe aloud.

"See here Monsieur!" Monsieur Firmin stood quickly. "Oh! Vicomte de Chagny, I do apologize for my rudeness, I did not know it was you!" Raoul's face was what caught the attention of the managers. His eyes were dark with questions he longed to breathe aloud. His face was almost gaunt with the lack of nutrition.

"Please I must see her!" Raoul pleaded. His eyes spoke volumes. He had not slept or ate when he had learned she was missing.

"Who?" Both managers asked him at the same time.

"Christine Daae." He repeated, his chest heaving from exhaustion. He had burst from his carriage upon arrival and had run up two flights of stairs to get to the offices. "Please, you must tell me where she is!"

"But sir! Mademoiselle Daae has not checked in for almost six days, at least that is what Madame Giry tells us." Andre said, he was not very good at hiding his emotions, and Raoul could tell something was very wrong.

"What do you think, Monsieur Firmin? Where do you think she is?" Raoul asked anxiety was filling his heart. Where was Christine? Where did she go?

"I do not know," He said gravely. "Have a seat sir." Firmin was worried about the Vicomte, he looked as if he had not slept for many nights. Raoul sank thankfully down in one of the chairs.

"When did you last see Mademoiselle Daae?" Raoul asked them. His tone was low.

"It was not since her grand debut as Prima Donna." Andre answered for them. "We've been overrun by paperwork, and sadly have not been able to venture out."

"I have not seen her for seven long days." Raoul said softly after a moment. "I was detained by my brother, Philippe, and could not come to her rehearsal the last day she was seen here." The managers exchanged glances.

"Perhaps it is time we called the police, Firmin." Andre said seriously.

"No, we can't. If word gets out that we have...how do you say...lost our Prima Donna, than no one will want to come to the Opera House. Especially if the ballet girls have anything to say to anyone. They'd convince a fly that the Opera Ghost was behind every loud noise and twisted ankle." Firmin looked down at his desk uncertainly and then back up at the Vicomte de Chagny. "We will hire a private detective, sir."

"That seems the best action." Raoul nodded seriously. He brushed his hand through his untidy hair. His eyes reflected the fear he felt.

"We will find her." Andre glanced at Firmin.

"If the detective does not find out where she has gone, than I will search for her myself," Raoul said softly. The door suddenly swung open, and Firmin turned towards the door to reprimand the intruder, but stopped. Madame Giry stood in the doorway, her hands clasped tightly, her eyes shining with urgency.

"Mademoiselle Daae has returned monsieur." Madame Giry said directing her look at the Vicomte de Chagny.

"Where is she?" Raoul asked, standing so suddenly his chair became unbalanced and clattered to the floor.

"She is in her room resting."

"I must go see her!" Raoul pleaded with the ballet mistress.

"She wishes not to be disturbed."

"Did she tell you this?" He asked anxiously.

"Yes." Madame Giry nodded solemnly.

"She would not even wish to see an old friend?"

"She said specifically for no one to disturb her. We must honor her request." Madame Giry gazed at him intently. "Don't you think so?"

"Of course." Raoul nodded sadly. He picked up his black hat from Andre's desk and slowly turned to face them.

"Madame Giry, are you certain she is well?" Firmin asked the ballet mistress.

"Yes, I am quite certain, Monsieur. I did not question her. She was quite pale, but she looked physically well." Raoul looked down at the hat in his hands..

"I trust, gentlemen that you will keep me informed about Mademoiselle Daae's health."

"Of course." Firmin nodded.

"Than I will take my leave." Raoul said softly. He dipped his head to Madame Giry and exited the room.

Christine heard a soft rapping at her door. Her heart fluttered expectantly. Her hand went instantly to her breast and the edge of her nightgown, her fingertips lightly brushing the spot over her heart.

"Come in." She called. Meg slowly opened the door and peeked her head it. Christine tried not to show her disappointment, but then she should have known. It could not have been Erik.

"Good morning my dear friend." Meg smiled. She held forth a gift wrapped in a silver box, and set it in Christine's lap. Christine lifted her self into a sitting position. Never before had she slept this late, it was almost an hour past noon. Christine took the top off of the small box and withdrew a lovely handkerchief with the embroidered letter "C" in blue thread.

"Oh Meg," She breathed. "It's lovely."

"Thank you." Meg blushed. She kneeled beside Christine's bedside. "How are you?"

"I'm well." Christine tried to smile convincingly, but she knew Meg was not fooled.

"Really?" Meg asked softly. "You would not lie to me?"

"I am as well as one can expect." Christine said thoughtful. She chewed lightly on her lip. A habit her father would have frowned on.

"Where did you go?" Meg asked. "I was so worried. Everyone was worried. Even Mama, and she never worries about anything."

"I went away." Christine said vaguely. She could not tell anyone the truth, not even her good friend. "To...to see a friend."

"With out telling anyone?"

"Meg, it was important." Christine said lightly reprimanding her friend for prying. Meg cast her eyes away.

"I just wanted to make sure you were well. Mama was even more troubled after she met you on the grand staircase last night. She said you looked terrified." Christine's eyes grew wide at Meg's revelation.

"Please trust me, Meg." Christine pleaded. "And speak of this to no one, not even your other friends." Meg's head jerked upwards at her friend's tone.

"Christine." Meg whispered. She was offended. "I would never do that." Christine smiled slightly and tilted her head, and Meg's frown softened.

"Well, maybe I would, but this time I shall not breathe a word to my friends. I swear on my ballet shoes." She patted Christine's cold hand. A mischievous grin crept over her mouth. "Rumor is that the Vicomte has been asking about you."

"Has he?" Christine whispered softly fingering a lace handkerchief. Her heart beat a little faster. Raoul asked about her?

"Yes!" Meg smiled. "He seems anxious to hear from you. You should write him a letter."

"Perhaps I should." No, she couldn't. Erik had forbidden her. But how she wished she could assure him that she was well. It was so tempting. She felt like Eve in the garden. She wanted to protect him more than anything. She didn't care what happen to her anymore. She didn't deserve life after what she had done to Erik. It was inexcusable. She still remember his eyes, the emotions of shock, anger, and hate that flooded his golden eyes. She could also see the sadness and loneliness. She looked down at her wrist. She could still feel the gentle pressure of his cloak covered hand.Oh why did she have to have done something so wrong just for curiosity's sake. She closed her eyes trying to shield herself from the pain. It was a pain that Erik most likely felt everyday.

"Well, mama would be mad if she knew I had disturbed you so I best leave." Meg said sensing Christine's turmoil.

"Thank you for the gift, Meg," Christine squeezed her friend's hand. "I appreciate it greatly."

"You are welcome."

"Goodbye." Christine whispered. Meg could never know what she had been through. Erik would always be a secret that she would long to tell, but never be able to speak of. He terrified her yet made her feel things she had never felt before. His voice made her soul sprout wings. She felt like she could fly whenever she heard him call her name...


	30. Greetings from the Opera Ghost

A/N: I know a lot of you want a total Erik pov chapter. It will come! For now...listen to the ramblings of Carlotta and get mad at her for a change. Thanks for the reviews!!

Madame Giry slipped two letters onto the top of the growing stack of papers."These arrived for you, Monsieur." She said. Her dark tone startled Andre.

"Thank you Madame Giry." Andre said, he was still rather miffed at her sudden appearance. As she was leaving she looked behind her, her silk black dress rustled at her movement.

"If you need to post a reply, give them to me Monsieur, I know where I must take them."

"Oh...thank you...I suppose." Andre said watching her depart. He slowly reached out for one of the letters that was addressed to him, and slid the expensive parchment envelope open.

"Good heavens." Andre whispered. Firmin choose that moment to enter, and watched as his friend numbly tried to communicate.

"Well? What seems to be amiss?" Firmin asked rather impatiently. He grabbed the letter from his friend's hand and read it. It was written in blood.

"You have one too." Andre managed to get out. He handed him the other letter. The door suddenly swung open and hit the wall with a thundering boom. Carlotta stood in all of her outrageous finery.

"My lady!" Andre stood, finally able to speak.

"What is the meaning of this?? This scheme?? I am appalled!" Carlotta's voice echoed around the room. Firmin dropped the letter in his hand, it fell to the desk. He stared at the former Prima Donna for a long while without really seeing her.

"Well?? Have you nothing to say?" She demanded. Her Italian accent added to the furious tone of her words was making it hard for her to be understood.

"Excuse me?" Firmin asked, he was almost ready to pass out. He glanced back at the letter that lay innocently on the desk. It too was written in deep scarlet blood. And it was written by the Opera Ghost.

"Here!" She said shoving a letter into his hands. He wanted to groan, not another letter! "The letter was signed by the managers of this opera house, and I can only assume that would still be you!" She wailed, dragging out a rather enormous handkerchief from her large bosom. Today she was dressed in a pale spring green silk with feathers attached to the sleeves and neckline. Her hat consisted of the same green color, with a large emerald placed among even more feathers.

"My lady, do not up set yourself. We will sort this out!" Andre said trying to console her. Piangi slowly walked in with all the proud strength he could muster, looking more like a blow fish than anything.

"Cara, calm yourself my love!" He said, his voice booming. Carlotta practically threw herself, sobbing into his arms, much to the dismay of Andre. Firmin slowly looked up from the letter.

"We did not write this." Firmin said shaking his head. "This was not our doing."

"What does it say?" Andre asked him urgently.

"It demands that Carlotta step down from the role of Countess and that Christine Daae be put in as the new Countess."

"Really! Of all the nonsense!" Andre snorted.

"Oh!! I am ashamed! I shall never be able to show myself in public again!" Carlotta cried. Large tears dripped down onto her silky gown, leaving dark stains.

"Don't cry, Cara." Piangi said patting the Prima Donna's shoulder.

"But it says...I should accept the role of Serifimo, the Countess's lover!!" She sobbed even harder into Piangi's shoulder. "The disgrace!" She cried.

"Oh my." Firmin shook his head once more.

"I am reduced to ruin!! Left with nothing!"

"You have me!" Piangi comforted. She lifted her head off his shoulder and pushed him away. His expression of love had obviously shaken her out her emotions and shown her reality.

"Non! I will not be left with nothing! I am a Prima Donna and I will always remain so!" She turned on her heel and faced Firmin. "That is if I am still welcome here!" She said wagging a doughy finger in his face.

"But of course my lady!" Andre interjected for Firmin.

"We would never force you out because of a simple mindless joke that someone is trying to play on us." Firmin agreed. "Therefore, Carlotta will be the Countess, and Christine Daae will take the role of Serifimo."

"What is the meaning of this?" The Vicomte de Chagny asked hurrying into the room, a letter in his hand.

"Oh no! Not you too!" Firmin cried. He was almost ready to weep himself.

"I was ordered in rather rude manner that if I should try to seek out Christine Daae again than..."

"Christine Daae?" Carlotta interrupted.

"Yes, Madame." Raoul nodded, and glanced back at the letter in his hand.

"It seems Christine Daae's name has been mentioned much lately." She slowly sank down in a chair, fanning herself with a green feathered fan. "What if this girl is behind this?"

"Impossible!" Raoul interjected. "I know Christine. She would never do this."

"I agree Madame." Firmin nodded. Carlotta turned her glaring brown eyes onto the manager.

"I don't care if you agree! I still believe it is that scheming little chorus girl who stole my part in Hannibal!"

"You walked out!" Firmin said rather exasperated.

"I was forced out!" She countered. She stood and pointed a finger in his face. "And I am being forced out again!"

"What are you talking about?" Andre asked. "No one is forcing you out my lady!"

"Are you mad Cara? We would never make you leave!" Piangi grasped her gloved hand and placed a kiss upon it. She hastily withdrew it.

"I am not mad! How dare you make that accusation!?" Carlotta shrieked. Raoul gazed uncomfortably at Firmin, who gave him an apologetic smile.

"Back to the matter at hand. Whoever wrote this letter will pay." Firmin said.

"Even if it is Christine Daae!" Carlotta smiled.

"But it isn't" Raoul confirmed.

"The Vicomte is enamored with her!" Carlotta pointed out.

"I am, but I am not letting that cloud my judgment. I am simply looking at the facts, Madame."

"Hmph!" Carlotta snorted.

"Your letter was written in blood also?" Andre asked his voice was quivering.

"Yes." Raoul replied gravely.

"This is the work of the Phantom of the Opera. I've warned you about him before." Carlotta said placing her hands on the wide brim of her rather eccentric hat and taking it off her head. She placed it on the desk. "But you would not listen to me." Firmin's mouth opened wide to object but a look of despair from the Vicomte cut him off. It was better just to let her speak, maybe she would run out of steam.

"Carlotta. As I said before. It is you, not Christine Daae who will be playing the role of the Countess, no matter what any letter says." Andre assured her.

"I'm glad you have come to your senses." Carlotta said standing quickly and grabbing her hat. "Come Ubaldo! We must rehearse!" She said. Piangi followed her like a stray dog. Raoul shook his head as he watched their exit.

"I hope for all our sakes that you will look into this Opera Ghost business a little more, Monsieur Firmin." Raoul said.

"We will." Andre assured him. Firmin reached for the letter that had lain on his desk.

_If you do not do all that I ask, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. _

The words put terror in his heart. A disaster beyond your imagination? This would not end well. Firmin sighed and gazed at the words written in blood. Was it truly the Phantom of the Opera who was behind this?


	31. Reflections

A/N: I wanted to answer a question that was asked by a reviewer. Does it hurt Erik when he writes the letters with his blood? I'm sure it does, but would he tell us that. No way! Lol. He's too macho! But I hope you like this chapter. It's not a complete Erik POV chapter, but it's got a lot of his thoughts. Oh and I'm sorry, but the dreaded fop returns! Hope you like it!

Erik stood in the shadows of Box Five, a hand rested on the balcony rail. The rehearsals for Il Muto were well underway, and as he had expected, the simple fools had cast Carlotta as the Countess.

"An unwise choice, gentlemen." Erik whispered softly. He watched as Christine struggled not to react as Carlotta berated her about missing her cue. Sweet Christine. She would not say anything to cause trouble. Sweet innocent Christine. His fingers curled tightly around the railing as the idiotic Prima Donna's voice rose as she sang an excruciatingly loud off key note. He was sorely tempted to act rashly in order to end the horrendous sounds. What power did Carlotta have that she exercised over the managers? She certainly was no seductress or beauty. Was it simply her over the top Italian temper? Whatever the cause, the managers were deaf to the fact that the woman could not sing. He smiled darkly as he imagined wrapping his fingers around her large throat and strangling all noise from it. But he had a better fate planned for her. The performance for Il Muto was to be held in a week and on that night he would show the world once again the girl that possessed the voice of an angel.

"_I do not want the world, Erik." _Her voice rang in his head. He shook his head slightly.

"You will want it when I give it to you, my dear." He whispered. In his heart he knew it wasn't true. But that was all he had to offer, he could not offer her his looks, his charm, or his warm embrace. He did not have any of these things. His body was cold, always cold. It was as if the embrace of death had not left him. A hand went to his mask. His hand shook as he felt the silky white cloth that was stretched over an ivory mold to make it more comfortable for the wearer. Something suddenly caught his eye. Sitting in the shadows of the balcony was the Vicomte de Chagny. His hand once again curled tightly around the rail. It was an effort not to scream in fury. Had he not ordered the young man to stay away. Stay away from the Opera House! He had ordered him to leave Christine Daae alone or he would pay. Well he would pay. He tightened his grip on the rail. He would not lose Christine to a young Vicomte with no knowledge about love. Raoul had been given love since birth, while Erik had never known it. While Raoul was loved, he was forsaken. He longed to give what he himself had never been given. He processed love, but he had never been given it. He was Christine's slave forever, for he loved her. She did not know of the power that she held over him. It was a dangerous thing to possess.

If she did leave him as he feared he would never recover. He would slowly waste away in the prison that was his home below the Opera House. If she ever did return to him, she would not find anything but a soulless body. But he doubted her return. He closed his eyes against the thought. He could not lose her. She was all that he had. He had given her everything else. She had taken his music and...his heart without even knowing it. He opened his eyes. Christine stood looking passionately at Carlotta. Her acting skills were far above his expectations. Had it been anyone else cast as Serifimo they most certainly would have been glaring at the enormous Prima Donna by this time. She was playing the part of the silent lover as best she could, while Carlotta took the lead and all of the glory.

"Bravo." He whispered. She was not the Prima Donna anymore, but yet she always had carried herself like one. She was always kind and full of grace. Christine reached up and raked a curl back into her bun. As she was doing this she glanced up at the dark interior of Box five. She could not see him. He had made sure no one could see him. But he had a feeling she knew he was there. He watched her turn slightly pale and close her eyes. She feared him. She feared his anger and wrath. She was the only one who knew his revenge would be terrible and swift. A delicate hand went to her throat. It was as if she knew that the noose was tightening around the guilty necks, those who disobeyed him.

Christine was wearing a pale amethyst hued dress that accented her small hips. The skirts lightly brushed the floor, hiding her small ankles and feet. Erik watched as she smoothed her delicate hands over the silky material of her dress. She seemed unaware of the beautiful picture that she created. The stage lights seemed to cast a heavenly glow upon her.

Everyone dispersed after the rehearsal was over, except for Christine who seemed as if she was in a dream. She wandered slowly around the half finished set of Il Muto gently touching the curtains for the bed scene, or brushing her fingers against the mahogany paneling for the wall of the set. She stopped at a mirror that had already been hung in place. She lifted a hand to the right side of her face, her fingers tracing her forehead. She was remembering the horrible sight she had beheld. Erik felt as if his heart was being carved into tiny pieces...a little at a time. He watched her mouth open slightly and her eyes close in terror as she recalled the sight from her mind. Erik felt as if he was going to scream in agony.

"Christine?" The voice echoed on the stage. It was the foolish Vicomte! Erik watched her spin around to see him. She tried to school her features, but she could not. She looked pale and anxious. Erik saw the flicker of concern that raced across the Vicomte's brow.

"Christine!" Raoul said smiling as he raced across the stage towards her. Her hands went instinctively towards the skirt of her dress, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles.

"Raoul." She smiled softly. He reached her and grasped her hand tightly in his. It was as if he was never going to let her go again. He pulled her into the shadows in the back of the stage.

"Oh Christine. You don't know how I've missed you." Raoul said brushing her hand against his lips. She blushed slightly. Her blue eyes glowed with pleasure out from underneath long delicate lashes.

"As have I." She whispered.

"You don't know how much I've worried about you, either." He said seriously.

"You have?" Christine smiled softly. Her eyes widened.

"Yes. Don't you know how much I care for you? Why would I come to all of your rehearsals if I didn't." He said passionately. He reached up and brushed a soft curl from her face.

"Oh." Christine breathed. Christine averted her eyes quickly to the shadow filled interior of Box Five. She knew he was watching them. She knew he had been watching her all along. She quickly stepped back.

"Where are you going?" Raoul asked. Confusion clouded his eyes.

"I must go." She whispered suddenly. "I cannot stay any longer. I've already endangered you."

"But why?" Raoul asked her. His face contorted into worry. "Is something wrong?"

"No...no. I must go." Christine said trying to convince him that she was well. "Haven't you received a letter? Don't you know what could happen if you don't obey it?"

"How did you know about the letters?"

"Everyone has heard! Please Raoul you must listen to me! He is not to be trifled with. Please!" Urgency filled her voice.

"I will not let this "ghost" try to separate us!" Raoul gently gasped her arm in order to keep her from leaving him.

"You don't know who he is! You don't know what will happen!" Christine said trying to get away from his gasp. She placed her palm over his and gently slipped his hand off her arm.

"I must go Raoul." She said looking away. "Know that I care for you." She whispered as she fled the stage. Raoul sadly gazed after her.

"Christine?" He said softly watching her leave him.

Erik could barely contain his fury. They both had blatantly disobeyed his orders. Christine he could forgive, but he would never forgive the foolish boy. He watched as Christine fled from Raoul in great haste to be away. She feared the Phantom. She did not love him. He could only hope that in time she would learn to love him. His heart could not bear it otherwise. He slowly disappeared back into the black shadows. He was indeed the ghost of the Opera House. Nothing more than a shadow of a man himself.


	32. Caged

A/N: I decided to write about Erik's past so we could get a little bit more of an idea at how he became the way he was in the end. Tell me honestly what you think! Enjoy!

A little boy with mussed black hair gripped the rusty bars of his cage. He murmured something in French, his golden eyes illuminating the darkness of the tent.

"Ah so the monster does speak," A rough voice said startling the small boy. "I was beginning to think that God had made you deaf and mute," The heavy smell of liquor filled the air and an unshaven face appeared out of the darkness. "No wonder your mother gave you up to us." The man's voice had the hint of many accents woven into his words. His French was rough and the grammar was atrocious, but the meaning of his words was more than clear to the little boy. He kneeled in the dirt beside the cage looking curiously at the boy.

"Plaire...please." The small boy whispered. He only was ten, and not very big for his age. The fact that the gypsies were almost starving him didn't help his appearance.

"They always beg for mercy in the beginning," The man said darkly. "And they continue to do so in the end, except with more passion. The pain they've endured make them plea for mercy even more," Erik's eyes grew wide with terror and hatred. "Oh, so you didn't know you weren't the first to occupy that cage?" The man continued. Erik said nothing. "Yes, we've had many...cast offs... stay with us for a long while at 'Cirque le Monstre'." The man smiled, his black eyes gleaming. "We had one boy here who had two thumbs on one hand and a girl who was born blind, mute, and deaf...And now we have you." His eyes narrowed as he gazed at Erik. "You're the most interesting one that we've had so far."

"When did you let them go free?" Erik asked his heart was pounding.

"They died in your very cell." The man paused to let this sink in. His eyes glinted with malice. "You see we are doing them a great service. We feed them and give them a home here. All they have to do is perform!" The man spread his arms out wide drunkenly gesturing to prove his point.

"God will punish you for your actions." Erik whispered, his golden eyes burning with hatred.

"God is not here." The man laughed.

"He sees what you are doing...and you will burn in hell!" Erik spat at the man's feet. The man arched an eyebrow.

"Where do you think you will go when you die?" He answered. "Do you really think that God cares about you? Why would he send you to heaven when your flesh shows you deserve hell? No... You will not spoil the beauty of heaven with your monstrous face." Erik's eyes burned brighter still. His hand curled around the rusty bar and squeezed around the metal. It was as if he wished the metal bar to be the man's neck.

"I haven't upset you have I?" The man asked.

"Non." Erik whispered, his words dripped with anger.

"Good." The man stood and surveyed the boy in the small cage. "I hope you rest well, Erik...That is your name?" The man asked. Erik said nothing. "I suppose your whore of a mother wouldn't lie about your name." Erik clenched his jaw in order to keep from trying to tear the man apart. If he had been out of his barred prison than the man would have been dead by now, even though he had never killed a man before in his life.

"Tomorrow is going to be another busy day and I'm sure you know what that means don't you?" Erik did not answer. "I thought so." The gypsy man replied. He grasped the bottle of wine as he stumbled his way out of the tent.

Yes, he did know what the gypsy meant. It meant people treating him like a monster. They threw anything they had with them, mostly rocks. All he saw around him was hatred. That was all he had known all of his young life. No love was given. No mercy was extended. What had he done in a past life to provoke such wrath? A solitary tear rolled down Erik's dirty cheek. His life was cursed. He could hear the drunken laughter of the gypsy men who were sitting out by a large fire they had built. Other members of the circus also were gathered around them. The gypsy man's words echoed in Erik's head blocking out every other sound.

_"They died in your very cell."_

He prayed that would not be his fate. The image of his mother's face swam into his mind and his hands curled into tight fists. He thought of her often. What was she doing without him? Was she once again enjoying life as she once had before he had been born. How could she just leave him! His hand came down on the hard floor of his cage.

"Mama." He whispered softly. "Are you happier now? Are you happier now that your Erik is gone?" He gazed mornfully at his hands. His fingers reached up and softly touched the horrible face he had been given at birth. What she must have thought of him when she saw him. How she must have screamed. The words "monster" and "demon" probably passed her lips. Another tear streaked down his dirty cheek. Love had deserted him. He lay on the floor of his cage and gazed out far beyond the tent opening. The moon glowed back at him. Stars shone their brightest like jewels presenting their glory. He hid his face in his hands. Such beauty could not be soiled. The moon and stars would never have to look upon his horrible face again. He would hide his face in the darkness. For darkness was his only friend now.


	33. Forgotten

A/N: Again I wrote a little more about Erik's past. Thank you for the reviews, I really like knowing what you think!

The gypsy men had left him only a bowl filled with dirty water to sustain him till the next day. A storm thundered over head. He could still hear the rain falling gently upon the damp ground. There was a tiny hole in the tent ceiling that let small drops of water fall through his cage bars, he had placed his bowl there to provide him with more water, for they would not give him anymore. It was as if God had provided the steady drips of the precious liquid, but then it could have been fate's intervention as well. He hardly believed in God anymore.

Dusk had fallen over the country-side of France, but he could no longer see light through the tent opening, only dark storm clouds. He had been there for one year, six months, and twenty-two days. He had counted. While he had been silent, his mind had been working. His captors had shown off his deformity everyday with no rest. They traveled around France's countryside performing in front of farmers and other peasants.

His hand slowly traveled up to the right side of his face. He flinched as he touched the lacerated and mangled flesh. No wonder people paid money to see him. He was a monster. For only a few coins someone could pay to watch a e1maciated young boy cower in a the corner of a small cage trying to hide his one flaw. His face. The hideousness of a man's face barred him from having any normal interactions with the world. Never had he felt the gentle touch of kindness or the soft brush of tenderness from anyone. The farmers and the peasants were deaf to his moans of pain as the rocks cracked against his bones and cut his flesh. The reactions of the crowd was much worse than any physical pain. The physical pain would leave him, but the mental images and the cries of horror in his mind would never flee the shadows of his mind. The faces of the children cut deeply into his heart most of all. Little children would watch as the gypsy ripped the cloth cover off the cage. He could see their faces contort into fear. They would cry out and hide their faces in their mother's skirts. They were innocent and he felt as if he was marring their innocence by showing them his face.

He reached up and trailed his fingers against the cold metal bars of his cage. The door to his cage was locked with a heavy rusty padlock. He had thought about the mechanisms of the lock for the year that he had stayed in his prison, but yet had nothing to work the lock. He yearned to be free. Not just free of his cage, but free of the horror of his face. He felt as if he would go mad with the desire. Like a bird longing and beating it's wings against the cage. Yet he felt as if he would never be free. He would do anything to get out of his prison... even by murdering someone to do it. His thin pale hands were untouched by another man's blood. He had never taken another man's life. His eyes dropped to his hands as he clenched them into a fist. Would he be willing when the time came to take another man's life to save his own? He lifted his eyes back up to the dark sky and the torrent of rain that fell from it. Yes. His brow knitted into deep concentration as he stared at the angry sky. Yes. God help him, he would. He closed his golden eyes and lifted his chin. If there still was a God watching him, he hoped that somehow he could ever be forgiven. He would descend to the depth of hell. He hoped God would save his soul. His eyes slowly opened and he gazed into the shadows. He would become one the shadows. A phantom...a ghost.

He had learned much over the period of a year and six months. He learned what agony was. What true pain felt like. To have your dignity swept from you like the ocean carrying the waves from the shore. It was demoralizing. The gypsies claimed they were doing him a favor by locking him in the cage. They said they were locking him away from the world so that he couldn't hurt anyone. Like he was a mindless monster. Ready to attack anyone innocent at any moment. He slowly lowered his face into his hands. Why had he been deserted?


	34. Il Muto

A/N: I decided to clear up something. In my final draft, instead of chapters that explains erik's past being all clumped up together, they will be spread out throughout the whole story. So if they are clumped up in the future, that is not how it will be in the final draft. Well, I'm glad that has been cleared up! Tell me what you think!

Erik was only a shadow to those who looked up. He blended in perfectly in the darkness of the catwalk above the backstage area. The performance of Il Muto would soon begin, and he was impatient for it to begin. He could make out Christine's lithe form in her surprisingly drab costume beside Carlotta in her horribly exquisite dress. The diva seemed to be trying to make Christine grovel in her presence. It would be Carlotta groveling to Christine in the end. He leaned thoughtfully against a metal pole that held the catwalk up to the ceiling waiting for the time in which the curtain would rise.

Finally the gas lights were dimmed and he could hear the audible anxious gasp of the cast members. He could also hear Madame Giry whispering for them to take their places. His eyes leapt to Christine who was fearfully awaiting impending doom she feared would come down upon her. She glanced behind her at Meg Giry who was trying to encourage her that all would be well. Christine was more intelligent than he had given her credit for. She had recognized the chain of events that would take place because of the manager's disobedience. The worst hit to his pride was that the managers had given his box away. He had specifically instructed them to leave it for his use. Well they would be taken care of tonight. He watched Christine once more. Her hands clenched her lacy skirt. He could see a change overcome her face. It was as if she was putting stage make-up on. She now looked calm and composed. But he could still detect a flicker of fear in her eyes. The curtain began to rise. It was not only the beginning of the opera, but it was the beginning of a night most opera patrons would not soon forget.

"How it must grate in Erik's ears." Christine smiled inwardly as she thought this to herself. Her teacher could rip into the diva's "talent" bit by bit and quickly reduce the large woman to ashes. She had no talent. She imagined Erik telling the shrilly woman that very fact. Only God knew where he was, watching her right now. She felt ashamed that she had gotten such a minuscule part, even though it had not been her fault. She felt as if she was betraying him, that she was wasting her talent. Carlotta began her first note with startling inaccuracy and the patrons of the opera would not be disappointed, she would hit every wrong note that night. It was a strange talent she possessed.

Christine felt her heart beat rapidly. She felt a brooding presence all around her. Surely nothing would happen in the first act. Maybe she could relax until the end, but she felt the tightening knot in her back and shoulders. She would be tense throughout the night until the opera was over. She had no comfort. There was no reassuring smile or nod from her teacher, only the tiny voice inside her head that whispered praise. She felt as if she was going mad. Was this another of his tricks? She softly shook her head and remembered just in time to step into position. Carlotta was about to give her an ear splitting serenade. The diva frowned at her for just a moment that even Christine didn't believe she had seen it, but one look in the large woman's narrowed eyes told her what she had seen was true. Carlotta was displeased that Christine had almost missed her mark. She prayed silently that the night would blow swiftly...and uneventfully by.

It was now the second act of the opera. Christine was anxiously twisting her sweaty palms around the silky fabric of her maid costume. She gazed up to Box five and found the comforting warm smile of Raoul. He had been watching her the entire time, not willing to take his eyes off her beauty. Christine slowly breathed. All would be well. She knew all would be well. It had to be. Now it was time for her to be revealed as Serifimo and for her maid's costume to be whisked away. She took a deep breath and pasted a sultry seductive smile on her face as Carlotta sang of the lies she had told her husband, that there was no lover. Then Christine's maid costume was quickly taken away by two ballet girls. A gasp swept over the crowd amid soft chuckles. They had not expected that. There Christine stood in blue silky pants and a lacy shirt, her hair tied back with a matching blue ribbon.

Christine knew that Carlotta had known all along that something was bothering her. The large woman just couldn't pin her finger on the problem. Whatever the cause, Carlotta had been throwing dirty looks over at the former Prima Donna all evening. She had even whispered for her to pay attention! But how could she pay attention? Erik had taken apart of her soul the first time she had met him. She could sense something was about to happen. She could not shake the feeling that he was watching her right now. She watched as Carlotta took a deep breath and was about to begin her next long operatic strain when something interrupted her.

"I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed me." A voice said echoing all around them. It reverberated all around the stage and in the audience. The managers glanced fearfully around them. Christine's eyes grew wide.

"It's him." She whispered. The ballet girls and the other members of the cast were seemingly frozen on the stage at the sound of the disembodied voice.

"A disaster beyond your imagination will take place!" The voice mocked them. Cruel laughter swirled around them and then as suddenly as it had come it disappeared. Carlotta was the first to react. She harshly swung Christine around to face her and began again. She was not going to let the Opera Ghost ruin her night.

"It is him." She whispered. Her eyes darted around the dark ceiling of the Opera House.

"Be quiet little toad!" Carlotta hissed at her. Christine's face was so pale that many in the front row believed she was about to faint.

"A toad Madame?" Erik's voice whispered behind the Prima Donna, it was soft, but yet loud enough for most to hear it. Thinking the ghost was behind her, Carlotta whirled around to find nothing but empty stage. Erik was throwing his voice to confuse them.

"No, I believe you are mistaken. It is you who are the toad!"

The large woman did not know what to do, but she slowly signaled the conductor to begin where they had left off.

"Maestro!" She whispered anxiously. The conductor nodded, his face was gleaming with sweat. To him everyone had gone mad. The opera was no longer safe from anything anymore. "My husband is away!" Carlotta began rather shakily. Never in her life had Christine heard Carlotta so shaken up about anything. "Serifimo...Away with this pretense!" Carlotta's eyes darted around the stage as if the Phantom of the Opera was going to pop up in front of them. The same spine tingling laughter met their ears. Christine was shaking.

"Erik...please." She whispered so softly that not even Carlotta caught her. She looked around in the shadows, for she knew that was where he was most likely to be. Laughter again met their ears and the music ceased. The crowd was beginning to grow nervous. The managers were trying to comfort the people around them, but to no avail.

"Maestro!" Carlotta urged him to begin again. She would finish her glorious part if it took her all night. She then looked over at Christine with a hatred that made her brown eyes flash. It was as if she thought that Christine had interrupted her magnificent night with laughter and threats.

"Serifimo! Away with this pretense!" Carlotta practically whispered shakily. Christine did not know what to do with herself, her costume had already been whisked away. She merely tried to look confident, but that was not how she felt inside. Suddenly as Carlotta began to sing the first part of their lover's song something happened to her. Instead of a horribly off key sound erupting from her mouth, it was the sound of a frog's croak. At first no one reacted. Carlotta's hand went to her throat. Christine stepped back slightly as if getting ready to run. Her eyes rose to Raoul. He was the only caring presence she felt right now. He was leaned roguishly forward in anticipation of what would happen. His brown hair had fallen in his eyes in his efforts. He smiled uncertainly and worriedly down at her. He was worried about her safety.

Carlotta tried to begin once more but only got as far as the third note before a loud croak rose from her mouth echoing loudly through the silent Opera House. Everyone was whispering and wondering whether they had been cursed. Was it the Opera Ghost? The diva was growing inconsolably distressed. Again and again she tried to get passed the third note, but each time a horrible croak was heard. Finally all pandemonium broke lose. The managers were trying to calm the crowd, and Carlotta was crying loudly, croaks still surged forth from her mouth.

"Don't you see!?" The Phantom's voice was heard. "She is singing to bring down the chandelier!!" With that the chandelier began rocking so violently that people scrambled to get out of their seats and hurry into the aisles. Screams echoed eerily off the gold paneled walls. Once again the sound of Erik's cold laughter could be heard, getting louder and louder. The bolts that held the chandelier into the ceiling groaned with the strain of the rocking and jolting. And then suddenly all was still and silent. The majestic chandelier still hung above them, it's glittering crystal accents still swaying from the movement that had suddenly ceased.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Firmin hurried out on the stage beside a weeping Carlotta. Piangi hurried forth and helped the disgraced Prima Donna off the stage. Christine wanted nothing more than to run off the stage, but she forced herself to exit with dignity. She almost fainted into Meg's arms.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Firmin shouted to be heard above the growing chaos. Off stage Carlotta could still be heard sobbing loudly.

"We will continue the opera with Christine Daae in the role of the Countess...Until then we will give you the ballet from..." Firmin grabbed a program from an unsuspecting member of the front row. He quickly raffled through it trying to find which act the ballet was in. "Act Three!" He shouted triumphantly. "We will show you the ballet from act three. Please be patient! And now onto...the ballet! Maestro!" Firmin nodded to the conductor who was wiping his sweating brow. Behind Firmin the stage was dark and the stage hands were hurriedly trying to change the scenery. Somehow they succeeded.

Christine watched anxiously off-stage hoping that there would be no more disasters. She gazed up around the cat-walks. There were only shadows. Meg had quickly slipped into her ballet costume and now was busily fixing her hair back into a bun. The music began to play and Meg and the other girls skipped merrily on. The only thing that the stage hands had not done was let the backdrop down to the stage, so that the Countess's bedroom backdrop could be seen among forest trees. A not-so-clever stagehand had rushed up to the cat walk and untied the restraints to the meadow backdrop. It rolled out and hit the ground with a loud bang. The ballet girls all shrieked and were scrambling madly around to get off stage. Madame Giry's staff could be heard echoing loudly against the wood floor. They slowly got back into their places. Meg looked warily around her. The lights were swiftly turned up and the music began. Christine had noticed how gracefully her friend moved, but not this night. This night seemed like it was cursed for all.

As Meg twirled and danced across the stage she glanced anxiously behind her. Would the ghost appear on stage? Suddenly she heard a shriek and as she turned she saw a menacing dark shadow appear behind the thin background screen depicting a meadow. She bit back a scream. Her eyes grew wide.

"Keep dancing!" She whispered as she looked off stage to find her mother frowning at them. They twirled and tiptoed along with the music. Each ballerina looked anxiously behind her multiple times. It wasn't until they all had their backs to the audience when they once again saw the dangerous looking shadow appear once again. Meg spun around so fast that her bun nearly came undone. She glanced helplessly over at her mother. Madame Giry's face was emotionless, she merely signaled for them to continue. Did her mother know something about this? Christine was standing still in her Serifimo costume right behind her mother. Her face was pale and her small body was trembling. Her hands were clenched together. Her eyes had lost transfixed quality to them. Another shriek met Meg's ears. Little Jammes had spotted the Opera Ghost's shadow once again. Her eyes were wide with fright and it looked like she was going to faint dead away.

"Jammes!" Meg whispered. Jammes looked hypnotized as she stared at the now tranquil background screen. "Keep dancing!" Meg softly encouraged. She feared her mother's wrath if they did not finish their dance. Jammes anxiously nodded and lifted herself on her toes and lifted her arms once again and joined the others in their dancing.

Suddenly Meg lifted her chin for one moment, her eyes raised to the ceiling. A snap was heard above her, and all she could see for a moment was a lifeless body falling towards the earth heading straight for her. Meg instinctively hit the ground and rolled out of the way. A strangled sort of scream flowed from her mouth as she saw the garroted body of Joseph Buquet suspended for only a moment by a thin rope, and then the rope disappeared and his body fell to the stage floor with a sickening thud. Meg stood unsteadily and then as she gazed at the man's lifeless body, his neck was twisted into a strange position. His head was lolled to one side. His neck had been broken by the fall. Then suddenly the petite ballerina's strength gave out and she fell slowly back to the ground, the image of the body of Joseph Buquet flashing before her eyes. She heard the familiar sound of cruel laughter before all of her world went black...


	35. Lost

A/N: Again more of Erik's past. So in this chapter you'll see a brooding Erik who's had to much Russian wine (my friend thought I should make it Vodka, but hey thats a little too modern!) So enjoy and tell me what you think!

* * *

He had turned nineteen today. No one had remembered, except he had. They were in Russia now. Mikhail the leader of the group had Russian roots, and he decided to travel around his home country with his group. The Cirque de Monstre's name had changed several times to fit the ever changing 'talent' that preformed with them. Now their name was the Cirque de Anomalie. Erik didn't care. Mikhail had taught him the art of magic. The art of the hand being quicker than the eye. He was now the mysterious magician who traveled with the gypsies. It was as if living in a cage for six years had earned him the acceptance of his captors. He had found it hard to resist the new salary he had been offered three years ago. Anything was better than his barred cage. Mikhail had recognized his talents and had realized that he would earn more money for a good magician than a half starved deformed young man. Erik's hatred and distrust for the gypsy people had not left his spirit. In fact, like a flame his anger had grown brighter and even more dangerous. But he had no where else to go. For now he would save up his money and move on when he had saved enough to buy passage on the next ship to sail as far away from Europe as he possibly could.

They were camped outside of a small Russian village. Snow covered the ground and was falling from the sky. Erik sat inside his tent, in a wooden chair he had made himself. He held a bottle of cheap Russian wine in his left hand. The bottle only held a mere swallow. He had drunk almost the whole bottle in an evening. His eyes traveled over a mask that lay on a rickety table that he'd carved from a dead tree. The mask was golden and it shimmered in the glow of the candle-light. His breathing was slow and even and his chest rose and fell with the movement. His fingers felt the wet rim of the wine bottle. He had begun to be even better at the art of magic than Mikhail. The gypsy had exclaimed in wonder over Erik's talent. But Mikhail only cared about talent and not the man who wielded it. The golden mask once again caught Erik's eye. He wore it when he was performing, for that was the only time he came in contact with people. Usually he would stay in his tent, or ride on a horse at the back of the caravan of gypsies. He was not much for conversation. He tilted his head as he gazed at the candle light reflecting through the wine bottle's green glass.

"Don't bother asking if you can enter, I see you've already made yourself at home." Erik said in perfect Russian, not bothering to look behind him.

"Your hearing is too good." Mikhail smiled ruefully at the young man's back.

"I'd offer you a chair, but seeing as there is only one I must refrain." Erik turned in his chair, not bothering to replace his mask. Mikhail deserved to see his hideous face.

"That is agreeable with me." Mikhail shrugged. "I thought you would be drinking by now." He eyed the wine bottle.

"What is it you want? You never come here without a purpose." Erik replied. He avoided the man's reference to the bottle in his hand.

"Truthfully, I do not know where to begin." The gypsy said his gaze shifted onto the young man's right cheek. Erik battled the urge to cover it with his hand, but he refrained. He only narrowed his golden eyes.

"Have you come to gawk like a woman, Mikhail? I am in no mood to be bothered tonight."

"No mood?" The gypsy's laugh rang out. Erik arched his brow.

"You mock me?" He asked incredulously.

"No! No never!" Mikhail laughed. "You have picked up quite a personality from abiding with the gypsies." His face grew serious. "No, my friend I would never mock you. You need nothing to add to you're 'injustice' as you call it." Erik clenched his jaw.

"You seem to like toying on dangerous ground." Erik brought the bottle to his lips and swallowed the last of the cheap wine.

"And you my friend like being intoxicated." Mikhail noted. His eyes glinted darkly. "I do not blame you. But you are unlike any drunk I've ever known. You still retain your dexterity and your balance. Why if I did not know you or if I had not smelled your breath, which might I add smells like wine, I would not have known you were drunk."

"What is your point in coming here?"

"To present a generous offer."

"You? Present something generous?" Erik's dark laugh rippled through the air, even causing Mikhail to become uneasy. "Your definition of generosity is ripping off a beggar woman and not killing her for her money. I cannot believe that you could ever be truly generous or...merciful for that matter."

"This time you're wrong." Mikhail said. He stroked his beard. "I offer you a chance to live a normal life." Erik's gruff snort of disbelief hardly surprised the gypsy.

"I suppose you're going to give me a fortune so I can live among the wealthy aristocrats in Paris and so that I can attend all the lavish parties." Erik said sarcastically.

"Would I make it that easy for you to show your handsome face in public?" Mikhail asked. His question was met with silence. "My offer is simple. Marry my youngest daughter and I will provide you her dowry so that you can go wherever you wish to go, so long as you take her with you."

"Tempting as that may be...I travel alone."

"But you do not have enough money to leave us yet do you, my friend?"

"Funny how the passing of the years change perspective so quickly. First you called me monster and now you call me friend." Erik said darkly.

"You should be happy that the years changed my perspective so quickly or you would have still been in your cage even now." Mikhail's tone dropped the friendly bantering tone. Erik kept his golden eyes trained sharply onto the gypsy. He would not look away.

"I will not marry your daughter in order to buy my freedom. Can you not unload her on another man?"

"She is no beauty. No one else wants her."

"Why do you not lock her up in a cage and charge admission? What is stopping you? Why not help her ugliness along by branding her with a hot coal from the fire as you once did to me?" Erik's voice held a dangerous edge to it. His tone was like that of a sharp blade only inches from a throat. One wrong move and the knife would slice open anything in its path. He ripped his shirt sleeve farther up his arm to show his wrists. Grotesque burn marks marred the once perfect flesh. Mikhail did not avert his gaze from Erik's eyes.

"She is my daughter." He answered simply.

"And I was my mother's son!" Erik whispered fiercely.

"My offer stands even if it is absurd and ridiculous as you obviously feel it is. Marry my daughter and you may leave with her and her dowry. It is enough money to barter safe passage on the fastest ship. You will be able to sail away from here, and away...from your past." Mikhail said. A smile, Erik knew the man did not mean, was on his lips. "You know where to find me if you wish to pursue the offer." Erik did not answer. His silence gave away what he thought. Mikhail turned his back and exited the tent. Erik turned reflectively back to the table where the mask lay. He would not resort to lowering himself down to the gypsy's level. He knew where that would lead him. Mikhail would probably trick him into having to stay even longer. Interested and sympathetic as he was in the daughter's plight, he was not going to let her ruin his chances of freedom. His time in a cage had not allowed him to soften his heart towards the weak. Or had it?

His gaze hardened as he remembered how his mother had rejected even the simplest show of affection. He had merely wanted to kiss her cheek and she had turned him down. His hand clenched tighter and tighter around the wine bottle. He only had wanted kindness and the world had denied his requests for mercy! The force that he exerted with his grip on the bottle shattered it in his palm. Glass exploded into his flesh. A scream of pain escaped his lips. He slowly opened his palm to find glass embedded into his hand. Blood trickled onto the table leaving dark stains on the wood. Little pieces of glass fell from his palm, leaving some of the bigger pieces sticking out of the flesh. His blood was a dark scarlet color. Pain overwhelmed his senses. He slowly dug out the glass pieces as best he could, the icy feeling of pain swept through him. When he was sure that all the glass had been extracted from his palm he wrapped a piece of white cloth around the wounds. Through his weakness had come pain. Well he would have no more of it.

He could hardly sleep that night, his hand throbbed so badly. He cursed himself for having a moment of weakness. Well he would never be weak again. Weakness was for men with no spine or dignity left. Oh how he hated to be mortal. For mortals could not control their destiny. They could only continue walking onward, blind to the fact that tragedy lay before them on their path through life. That was not the way he wished to live. He was tired of tragedy. Despair filled his soul and enveloped him in a cloud of discontent...


	36. Fleeing the Shadows

A/N: I am sooo sorry I haven't updated in a while. Forgive me, I have been busy! So tell me what you think.

Cries of outrage and screams of fear pursued Christine as she ran from backstage to her dressing room. She heard Monsieur Firmin trying desperately to calm the crowd, but it was no use. This event would be in all of the Paris newspapers by tomorrow. Dark shadows whispered to her as she fled. She thought she heard footsteps behind her and whirled around. The hall was empty. There was only darkness. Her hand went to her heart. It was beating so fast. She rested her back against the cold stone wall. The dim lighting from the kerosene lamps cast a misty hazy glow on the grey stone walls. Shadows blended with shadows. The darkness frightened her, but in her flight she hadn't noticed how overbearing it was. It pressed down on her from all sides. A pair of golden eyes emerged from the darkness. Her mouth opened to scream, but nothing emerged. Her fingers curled around the sharp rocks that made up the wall.

"Erik." She whispered. Her skin had gone cold.

"Christine." He said softly, emerging from the shadows. She could now see his entire body.

"What have you done?" She asked hoarsely. She saw him frown at her.

"What do you mean?" He took a step closer.

"You...You....killed Joseph Buquet." She whispered fearfully. Her voice and wide eyes gave away to him that she was frightened.

"I did it for you." He said softly. Erik was now only inches away from her face. She could feel his eyes boring into her. "Does this not please you?"

She shook her head violently as if not believing what was happening. "No." Christine said softly. She looked away from him.

"Why do you look away?" He asked her. "Look at me." Erik commanded softly. She did not raise her eyes. "I am masked. You have nothing to fear."

"It is not your face I fear...It is you."

"You fear me?" Erik's voice had a mixture of shock and anger. "Never say that again." He said hoarsely.

"It is the truth!" Christine said bravely turning away from him. "Why can't I speak my mind without you becoming angry? Why can't I touch you without you becoming frightened that I will hurt you? Why can't you...you trust me?" She asked angrily. He did not flinch. His eyes stayed the same intensity of golden yellow. He wasn't angry anymore. In his own eyes he was defeated.

"You are incredibly foolish to believe that I would ever trust you again, Christine." Erik's eyes narrowed. His hand went to his mask. She was frightened that he was going to rip it off, but he did not. He looked away for a moment. "You...like everyone else have betrayed me." Hatred burned in his eyes. But the hatred was not for her. It was the world. Shame burned in her heart. Her cheeks flushed red. In the dimly lit hall she could make out Erik's face and body. His mouth was set in a thin line, and his eyes were closed. His hands were clenched tightly. He was right. She was nothing but a liar. She had promised she would never hurt him in her heart and yet she had! She could say nothing. Erik's black form merged with the darkness. His eyes opened and his gaze fell upon her. It was as if he was seeing her, without realizing she was truly there.

"You're so beautiful," He whispered distantly. "Never have I seen someone so innocent." He reached up to brush a curl away. Christine closed her eyes and she felt her body become rigid. She opened her eyes when she realized she felt nothing. His hand was lingering in the air only inches away from her. It was shaking. "Christine." He whispered. Then suddenly he was gone. She looked around her, but all she saw was shadow. "Christine." He whispered again. She saw nothing. Her body was trembling with fright. Her heart was beating rapidly. She turned and ran on...

* * *

"Monsieur?" Madame Giry's voice filled Box Five. Raoul and his brother Philippe turned in the plush red velvet seats. She gazed at them icily. They were in her master's box.

"Madame Giry. What a pleasant surprise." Raoul smiled gently at the woman. Both he and Philippe stood.

"I have a note from Mademoiselle Daae."

"You do?" Raoul got up as slowly as he could muster. He could hardly contain his excitement.

"Yes." Madame Giry extended her hand to reveal a white envelope with his name on it. He recognized Christine's delicate handwriting.

"Thank you, Madame. I greatly appreciate it." 

"I'm sure you do." She replied coldly. "But if you please, Mademoiselle Daae wished for a reply."

"Oh! Of course." Raoul swiftly opened the envelope and read the letter. His heart relished the words that were written on the page. "Tell her I will come at the mentioned time."

"Very well. I shall relay the message." She showed a glimmer of a smile and then promptly left the box.

"Where may I ask are you going?" Philippe asked his younger brother. He sat back down and raised an eyebrow.

"Merely a pressing social engagement." The young Vicomte merely smiled. 

"Interesting... I suppose you will not be attending the dinner that Countess Bella is holding for her youngest daughter?"

"No." Raoul said firmly.

"Is it a girl again?"

"It might be."

"Raoul. You know I love you very much. I'm not sure that giving your...might I add...very wealthy heart away is very wise."

"I love Christine."

"Oh yes. That was the girl's name."

"You have seen her. I pointed her out to you." Raoul said breathlessly.

"She is quite beautiful. I can understand why you are taken with her."

"Why are we arguing about this then?" Raoul questioned his older brother good naturedly. His gaze traveled over the empty stage. The wealthy patrons of the opera were filling out, while some were still seated talking animatedly about the night's events.

"Let me say something that a normal older brother wouldn't try to communicate. Are you listening?"

"Of course. I always do." Raoul smiled.

"Of that I am quite doubtful." Philippe said with a laugh. "I am talking to you as a friend now, Raoul. If you love her, than God grant you happiness in life...but if this is merely another fling, I plead with you not to break the girl's heart."

"I promise you...I love her more than anything." Raoul

"I trust you." Philippe said placing his hand on his brother's back. "Be careful with her heart."

"I will, and she will not regret it in the end." Raoul smiled gently. "She loves me also."

"Has she said this?"

"Well...no...but I can see it in her eyes and the way she looks at me."

"I hope God blesses you both." Philippe said standing up. "If you will excuse me, I must go extend your condolences with Countess Bella."

"Have a lovely time trying to explain my absence. Tell me what lie you will tell!" Raoul laughed.

"I shall tell her you had to stay home and nurse a kitten back to health." Philippe smiled.

"Very clever." Raoul nodded.

"Go, fly to your love's waiting arms." He said softly. 

"I will." Raoul said thankfully as he rushed away. Philippe watched silently as his brother left.


	37. Broken Promises

A/N: For a lot of you this is a chapter you really don't like becuase of stupid (cough) Christine's betrayal. But I want Raoul to be a real opponent for Erik so have to make him somewhat likeable don't I? Well thank you to all of you who have stuck by me and reviewed me story. I know 37 chapters is a lot to read in order to get the whole plot, but trust me you'll be glad it was so long in the end...at least I hope...umm...well moving on!! Have a great day guys!!

Raoul found Christine on the roof. She had changed into a midnight blue dress with lace around the edges. The hood of her matching cloak was down revealing her long brown curls covered with tiny snowflakes. She turned quickly when she sensed his presence and flung herself into his arms as soon as he came near. The soft lightly on the roof top from her kerosene lamp illuminated her face making it appear even more ghostly pale.

"Raoul!" She whispered. "Oh Raoul!" She clung tightly to him.

"Christine?" Raoul breathed softly. His warm breath fell cold upon her cheek. "What is wrong?" He gently grasped her shoulders and pulled her back so he could see her face more clearly. "Christine?" He asked. She was shivering from the cold. Snowflakes fell all around them on the rooftop. She turned her eyes toward him. The distant haunted look in her eyes shocked him.

"I'm so glad you came...I didn't know if you would."

"I will always be there when you need me." He corrected gently. "What is so urgent?"

"He was there, you saw him! Doesn't that give you cause for alarm?"

"Of course my darling, but I know that the managers of the Opera House with sort it out."

"Its not just that...I...fear for your life...Raoul." She whispered in a soft anxious tone.

"My life? Christine you're tired from your performance. I'm amazed you've lasted this long, my love." He tenderly drew the hood of her cloak over her head so she would be more sheltered from the cold.

"Please Raoul! Listen to me! " Panic rose in her throat making her feel as if she could retch. She held on to him so tightly. Raoul gazed down at her, pity was etched in his face.

"What places such terror in your heart?" He asked brushing a curl from her face.

"The Opera Ghost." She whispered. "I've seen him...I cannot rid my mind of the memory...the memory of his face." She looked at him, not really seeing him. Her eyes had gone wide, and her face already pale from the cold, had turned ashen. "His face will haunt me till I die. I cannot explain it! Oh Raoul! He will kill you! If he finds out that I have met you here we will pay with our lives! What have I done? What have I done?" She cried.

"Christine...my love. It was a dream! Only a dream! It has to be. " Raoul consoled her. Christine drew back.

"You think me mad." She whispered shaking her head. She turned away from him and looked over the edge of the roof and down at the soft glow of Paris. "Am I mad? Every time I close my eyes, he is there. Every time there is quiet, I hear him singing in my head. He is everywhere. I cannot escape him." Christine said softly. "My soul longs for him while my body shuns him. He is repulsive to me, yet he is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. He gave me my voice... and he gave me his heart."

"Christine." Raoul whispered in shock at her confession. "Please, you are scaring yourself with your tales. Rest your head against my shoulder, calm yourself. I am here." He said gently grasping her arms and pulling her towards him once more.

"No!" Christine cried pushing away from him. Fear flared up once again in her eyes. "You do not believe me! I swear on my father's grave I am speaking truthfully."

"Truly?" He asked searching her face. He found no deception in her eyes.

"I speak the truth." She whispered urgently.

"I believe you, love." He grasped her hand. "I must take you away from this place if someone is haunting you."

"Raoul I can not leave! For as long as he lives he will love me, he will long for me. I see it in his eyes. It is not a lust for flesh. It is a lust for the soul! And until I give it to him he will never stop haunting me! He said himself he will kill anyone who tries to seduce me! I do not want you to be a victim!"

"This Phantom will pay for his actions and deeds." Raoul said forcefully. She looked away.

"I fear that will never be. He has lived in a world full of hatred all of his life. He knows how to form plans, he knows how to outsmart, and trick!"

"I will protect you Christine! Even with my very life!"

"I know you will." She looked up into his eyes. "I...trust you."

"I still see fear lingering in your eyes, love."

"You see all too well." She whispered. She gazed tenderly. "I still fear for your life. Please be careful. We have seen him kill! Someone has died tonight! "

"Shhh. Christine." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "You worry to much about my welfare. I have been looked out for my entire life, It is you who need protection. That protection I will give you." Christine drew herself back up into his arms. "You do not know how much I care for you. I need to know, love, I know how difficult this could be to say, but has this Phantom taken advantage of you...in any way?"

"Oh no! I...he...would never do that."

"Do you have feelings for him...Christine?" Raoul asked hesitantly.

"Raoul. I dare not speak of my feelings for him...He could be here...even now!"

"He is not here! He would not dare be here. Tell me, love." Raoul ran a finger gently against her cheek. She closed her eyes at his touch.

"I...I was frightened when he took me to his home. All the time I feared for my life and my soul. Oh but the places he took my soul. I felt like I was flying or on fire with passion for the voice he has given me!" She said her voice was lifted in awe, her eyes were wide. "But his face, Raoul! I took away his mask from his face and underneath was the most terrifying face I have ever seen! I have nightmares, I cannot get away from seeing his face." Her eyes were now filled with terror. "No...I'm certain now that the only feeling I feel when I gaze into his eyes is...pity. That's all. That's all that it ever will be." Christine's voice faltered as if even she wasn't sure of herself. The shadow of the Apollo's Lyre loomed over them with a dark menacing quality. The snow was falling even more quickly and the dark night sky was clouded over, blocking out the moon's glow glow. Suddenly a soft moan met Christine's ears.

"What was that?" She asked anxiously. Her hands were clenching Raoul's dress coat. He gently released himself from her grip. He put a finger to his lips signaling her to be silent and he slowly ran the length around the statue. He also checked the darker corners of the large roof. After a moment he returned to her.

"Shhh. It was nothing, love." He captured her tiny waist with his hands and drew her close once more. "I'm here. I will keep you safe."

"Raoul...I'm frightened. He could be here!"

"He is not here." Raoul said firmly brushing back a curl off her forehead. Her hood had once again fallen to her shoulders revealing her beautifully long curls.

"How can you be sure?" She asked softly as she gazed into his eyes.

"I'm sure..." He whispered gently. His hands reached up and cradled her face. "I would never let anything happen to you."

"Do you promise?" She asked fearfully.

"I swear. Come...I wish to see a smile." He said lightheartedly. She slowly lowered her eyes.

"I have not smiled in such a long while. It has felt like years."

"Than maybe this will put a smile back on your lovely lips." He whispered. His face slowly lowered down towards hers. His lips found hers and his hands encircled her waist. Her wide eyes closed in surprise at his sudden action. Her hands moved from her side to his shoulders as she was swept up in the kiss. She was the first to break away taking a few steps back.

"Why did you do that?" She asked him softly.

"You were so frightened...I wished to comfort you." She blinked slowly at him not quite knowing how to react. "I love you Christine. Heaven knows that its been hard to get that fact across to you! You never listen to me...your mind is always a thousand miles away. A kiss was the only way to get that across. I love you!" He smiled gently at her. "I loved you the moment I ever laid eyes on you! Even as a boy I was caught up in your beauty and spirit! I love you Christine Daae...marry me...and I'll take you away from here. We'll grow old together and our love will never die. I know what you must think..." He said.

"Raoul..." She said softly. She was speechless.

"I know what you must think...I've said too many flowery words for your taste. You must think me a fool."

"No...never, Raoul."

"Then please tell me what you think about my confession. For as a man in love I must know!" He said fervently.

"Oh Raoul..." Christine whispered stepping closer to him and cupping his chin in her small hands. "You know I care for you!" A soft moan once again met her ears. She shivered as a tingling sensation crept down her back like an icy hand. She turned her head in all directions, but there appeared to be no one around except the shadows.

"And I for you, love." He gazed intently into her eyes. He had not noticed the second noise. All he saw was the raised fear in her eyes. "You are I will escort you back to your room. From now on you are not to go out alone in the halls unless you have someone with you to guard you will I am not there. Ask your friend...Meg...yes I believe that's her name."

"I shall." Christine blushed at his concern. She reached back up and softly kissed his cheek. "Thank you for protecting me, Raoul." She said in a small child-like manner.

"Always. Now come with me down below. You'll freeze up here." He whispered placing his hand at the small of her back and leading her down the steps that would take them inside the warmer areas of the Opera House.

A dark shadow slowly moved out from it's hiding place when they had gone.

"Christine..." Erik whispered softly, his breath hardly showed in the icy air. His soul had died in him. There was only a corpse to carry the remains. "Oh Christine." He cried. His hand gripped a corner of the cold statue of Apollo's Lyre. A shiny translucent tear slowly slid down his cheek. Why did the image of her gazing up at him with her beautiful eyes and mouth slightly open in awe of him, keep appearing in his mind? "I denied you nothing. I gave you all I had to give. I asked nothing of you but your voice!" He wept. His hand curled into a fist and slammed against the hard statue. No pain reached him. He felt like his heart was writhing and screaming within him. "I have nothing else to give you!" He shouted. The snow continued to fall softly around him, giving the scene an surreal feel. Erik's voice cracked with emotion as he cried out her name. The cold wind whipped his cape against his legs and arms. He slowly stumbled over to the railing of the rooftop and leaned on it for support. His tears fell frozen to the streets of Paris below. That was how his heart felt...frozen...numb...iced over. He felt as if someone was manually pumping air into his lungs. Without the unseen help he knew he would not have been able to breath after his betrayal.

He shakily opened his eyes to look down at the streets below. He had nothing to live for...no one to love him back. Who would care if he threw himself off the roof. His death would not matter in the whole scheme of things. God did not care about him. In his mind a voice whispered her name, the name he vowed he would never utter again, a vow he knew he could not keep. _Christine..._Christine would care if he died. His eyes closed once more. He had been betrayed by her. She certainly did not care for him at all. She had done well to hide her emotions down in his lair. She had been more afraid than she had let on. She had lied about caring about him. Everything she had said and done was a lie. Ripping off his mask had been a doorway to her own true feelings about what she thought about him. He envied the kiss that the Vicomte had stolen from Christine. He envied the feeling of her arms around his neck and the look of love in her eyes. Those things he would never have.

"I gave you my love...Christine..." He whispered. He pulled a hand roughly through his black hair out of habit.

"But no more will I earn your pity." He straightened slowly. He would have her for his own prize. Both she and her young lover would pay for their treacherous deeds against him. They would suffer like he had. They would be humiliated. They would curse the day that they had disobeyed him. Yes, he would make them both pay. His heart had truly hardened. The ice had spread. No more would Christine pity him. She would love him. He would make her love him. A cold laughter rang out, coming from a wasted soul. It was his laughter. A laughter that put fear in man's soul. He was the Phantom and he would get what he wanted...a woman's love...no matter what it took.


	38. Whispers

Erik slowly grasped a sheet of music that had slipped to the floor. It was from his opera _Don Juan_. He resisted the urge to crumple it up in his fist. Instead he gently placed it back in its place. A dark smile crossed his lips as he spotted a lacey handkerchief that Christine had accidentally left. He carefully picked it up and breathed in her scent. How he missed her. Slowly he let the handkerchief fall to the floor. He couldn't think of her anymore. He couldn't let her distract him from his task ahead. In the end he would have her. The world would be forced to repay him for the injustice he was dealt. He would forget about her for now, if he could.

* * *

Only four days later, Erik poured a glass of wine and looked on with anticipation as Nadir took his first sip. "You were not here at my home with this shipment was delivered. You will not be disappointed either, I can tell you that." 

"I hope not." Nadir said sarcastically. Truthfully he was glad he was back in Erik's good graces. He had been invited back as if nothing had happened between them.

"I knew you'd enjoy that one." Erik said noting the look of satisfaction on his friend's face.

"I have not tasted this wine since I left from Persia. This is perfection in liquid form." Nadir smiled warmly, holding his glass of wine like it was a treasure.

"If you think that, than you've never tried my Russian tea."

"Nor do I want to from what you've described that goes into it." Nadir replied with a grimace. Erik smirked at the comment.

"I never thought that a Persian's stomach couldn't take Russian tea." Erik shook his head. Nadir ignored him and took another sip of the wine. Erik studied him for a moment before speaking again.

"Sit down, Dragoda, you're making me nervous and that's not an easy thing to do."

"I would be happy to oblige you. But this would be better if shared with a friend." Nadir said holding up the glass of wine.

"I will have nothing tonight. Sit." He ordered. He watched as Nadir walked around to the settee.

"What is this?" Nadir asked holding up the front page from an old issue of one of Paris's most prominent gossip papers.

"It's a paper Dragoda." Erik replied sulkily looking up from his place in front of the mantle he had been leaning on.

"I mean the headline, Erik."

"Death at the Paris Opera House. Well they certainly did sugar coat it now didn't they?" He laughed softly. "Its more like incompetent Opera House worker finally goes to see his maker."

"This is no laughing matter! Do you realize they will search for the killer?"

"I take everything into consideration. You know better than anyone that I carefully plan everything I do."

"Except with matters of the heart."

"If you are referring to the dinner you brought me, than yes."

"I don't mean ingestion! Come now Erik this is very serious!" Nadir said, slowly placing the paper back on an ornate table.

"I know very well that it is. It has been two weeks since that old man's death and certainly it will quiet down. The ballet brats will gossip even more about me and that is what I wish. Fear will circulate and tension will build making the managers willing to do anything I ask."

"That is what I am afraid of."

"You are afraid of too much, even shadows frighten you." Erik replied gruffly gazing at a lovely rose that was flourishing quite well in a vase by the mantle.

"Please don't murder anyone else. Do you swear?"

"You know very well that I will not swear to anything that I do not agree with. Besides if someone else dies here it will not be anyone that you know." Erik smiled darkly.

"I cannot get through to you the seriousness of playing this game!" Nadir shook his head and resigned himself to sitting on the settee.

"Is that what you think I think this whole thing is? A game? Well you are once again seriously mistaken, Dragoda." Erik's eye glowed like miniature suns blazing in the sky.

"And what else was I mistaken on?"

"Everything about me. You see I will always be one step ahead of you in this life."

"Allah says there are many lives."

"Well my God says there is only one. And as a matter of fact I don't believe in any God anymore. So don't try to press your Persian faith on me, Nadir."

"I wouldn't dream of doing that, Erik." Nadir smiled good-naturedly.

"You seem to be faring well far from your native land." Erik commented.

"As do you."

"What is that supposed to mean? Hell isn't that far from being my home if that's what you meant by that comment."

"You haven't found your true place in this world yet, Erik."

"Yes I have." Erik smiled distantly. He gazed back at the rose. "But she does not want me. That is good, because it causes me to be weak, and that I do not wish. I resolved not long ago that I would never have feelings for this creature again. I wonder if I shall have the strength to do it, but it must be done. She has sinned against me." Erik said softly. Nadir watched his friend's face darken.

"I still wish your future well."

"You will have many wives in your heaven, why wish my future well?"

"Because you need it, my friend." Nadir replied with a pitying look.

* * *

A single blood red rose was lying alone in the middle of the stage. Meg bent to pick it up, marveling at its color. Christine was not listening. Her eyes roamed the catwalk above them and the shadows that surrounded it. She had not seen Erik for almost a month. She had not heard his voice speaking to her. Nor had she felt his warm breath against her cheek as he whispered to her things she had never known before. The world had become more open to her, and with that came frightening freedom and ideas of the life ahead of her. The rose had reminded her of him. She had not seen him since the encounter in the dark hall on her way to her dressing room. She shivered at the memory. 

"Christine..." Meg's voice met her ears. She quickly turned, feeling rather guilty about her silence.

"I'm listening." She lied.

"Well then, will you answer my question?" Meg smiled in a vixen way as if she knew what her friend was thinking about. Christine sighed softly.

"I wasn't listening then."

"I thought so. Do you have your head in the clouds Christine Daae?" Meg asked imitating her strict mother.

"As always. Papa passed on being a dreamer to me, a trait I proudly show off as much as possible." Christine smiled.

"I was asking you if you could guess which of the ballet girl's left this rose on the stage."

"Hmm....Sorelli?"

"Like she would get one!" Meg giggled.

"Let me see it then." Christine shook her head in amusement at her friend's laughter. Meg handed over the rose. She turned it over and over in her palm savoring the silky feeling of the petals. They almost felt like the material that Erik's opera cloak was made from. Silk most likely.

"Well?" Meg asked breaking off Christine's thoughts.

"Jammes?"

"That's what I think! Good girl! You have been paying attention!"

"To what, pray tell?"

"Well...haven't you noticed the _handsome young man_ who inherited all of his grandfather's money? He has been staying after performances to talk to her! She is barely fifteen and she already has a suitor!"

"She deserves a nice quiet man. One who will listen to her chattering and always love her for who she is." Christine commented softly gazing down at the rose.

"You're quite sentimental about this." Meg said slowly gazing up at her friend. "Is something bothering you? You've seemed so pale and withdrawn over the past weeks. You don't even go out with us shopping for hair ribbons and new shoes!"

"You always talk about my coloring."

"Don't get off the subject, Christine." Meg said firmly planting her hands on her hips. "Are you engaged?"

"Meg Giry! What ever gave you that idea?"

"Well plenty of things! The Vicomte de Chagny has been here for every single one of your performances even though you keep getting smaller roles in each one."

"That doesn't count, he was already coming to everyone of my performances."

"He does adore you."

"And I him." Christine responded softly.

"So that is it! You're engaged!" Meg jumped up and clasped her friend's hand. "I knew it!"

"Meg! Please! Don't say such things! We are not engaged. Don't go spreading things around. You don't know all that is going on."

"Fine!" Meg held up her hands in defense. "I shan't say a word!" A mysterious twinkle appeared in her eyes.

"You are a silly girl." Christine shook her head with a smile.

"I've been called much worse." Meg grinned.

"That you have, and by your own mother."

"It's a secret talent."

"Oh! Meg come we have to hurry back and change for the dinner they are having tonight!"

"Oh gracious! You're right!" Meg said grabbing her hand and pulling her off the stage. The rose fell from Christine's hand in their haste and it fell to the stage floor. They did not see a figure move from the shadows towards the delicate rose. The shadowy figure cradled the rose gently in his hand, breathing in the lingering perfume from the woman who had held it only moments before.

A/N: Tell me what you think! Thanks to all those who have reviewed! You guys are great!!!


	39. Another Betrayal the Secret Engagement

No one felt more isolated than the young girl who sat surrounded completely by other people. The room felt cold to Christine. It felt stiff and uninviting. The only warm thing in the room was the delicious food on her plate. The annual dinner party was held at the opera house in one of its many fine rooms. Only the cast of the current opera was invited along with the managers and other wealthy contributors to the Paris Opera House. No one else was invited. The stage hands and crew were celebrating elsewhere tonight. She had been seated far from Carlotta and the other cast-members who sat at the head of the table with the managers. Instead she had been seated near the ballet girls, the worst insult at all. If the Phantom had been watching he would not have stood for it. But he had not been watching her lately. It felt as if he had abandoned her to the wolves.

She noticed beneath beautifully sweeping lashes that the some of the wealthy Opera patrons were whispering and looking back at her. Their gazes were cold like the diamonds they wore. Christine glanced down at her bare neck and wrists. She was a shame. At least she looked presentable. Her dress was a deep cranberry stain that gave her chocolate brown hair a glow. Her hand shook as she daintily picked up her fork and picked up a bite of veal. Meg sat quietly beside her not really paying attention to Jammes rattle on about nothing. She finally leaned over and looked closely at Christine.

"Is something wrong?" Meg asked softly, she was barely heard over the low din of laughter and sensuous voices.

"No." Christine managed a weak smile. "Just thinking."

"You tend to do that a lot. Much more since Il Muto." Meg replied thoughtfully. Her eyes moved to the spot Christine was gazing at. It was a particularly gaudily dressed woman with many precious jewels hanging from her neck, sleeves, and wrists. Christine shivered at Meg's words.

"I have been, I must admit. A lot has happened."

"Much more than I know." Meg smiled gently. "You've hardly said a word throughout tonight."

"Nothing to say." She whispered.

"Are you upset that the managers have reinstated Carlotta as the lead in most of the operas?"

"No. I was never much for fame. I quite disliked it anyway." Her voice never faltered as she gazed around searching for the one familiar face she had grown to enjoy seeing so often, but it appeared that Raoul had not attended.

"You? I thought you liked all the roses you got." Meg's voice shook her back into reality.

"...Most of them, some in particular." Christine smiled softly. She traced a finger around her water goblet's gold edged rim.

"And you got more pay for your services by singing in the lead role."

"I don't care about money...honestly!" Christine laughed at the raised eyebrow Meg gave her.

"Really," Meg's face lost the brightness. "I don't know why they put you down here with us. It must have been Carlotta."

"I'd rather sit with you than some old man who snores during Monsieur Andre's speech."

"I think that was a compliment..." Meg said with a mock look of horror crossing her face.

"Of course it was." Christine glanced out the large window. The snow had turned to cold wet rain. Spring would arrive soon. She loved seeing the seasons change before her eyes. She imagined the fields in the countryside of France and how lovely they would look when the rains and snow stopped.

She wondered where _he_ was at that very moment. What was he doing? Why had he left her? It was true that she had felt that she had done something to offend him. What had she done? What if...he never came back to her? Her hand went to her forehead in desperation at the thought. She closed her eyes as another wave of loneliness washed over her. Where was Erik when she needed him? Where had his promise that he would never let anything hurt her while she was under his watch gone? A soft hand brushed her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see Meg gazing with concern in her eyes.

"I'm just tired...that's all." Christine whispered.

"Oh!" Meg said sounding startled. She was looking over Christine's head.

"Meg? What is it?" Christine asked concerned. She slowly turned and her hands clenched around the chair's slim arms in surprise. "...Oh! Raoul..." She whispered.

"Will you excuse us Mademoiselle Giry?" Raoul's voice warmed Christine's heart. Meg nodded quite speechless. Raoul gently helped her up and excused them from the room. They made their way into the dark hall, lit only by a few candles. She settled her back against the wall as did he. He turned his head to look over at her for a moment.

"I've missed you."

"As have I, but Raoul I...."

"Hush, Christine," He said smiling and placing a finger against her lips. His eyes twinkled in the candlelight. "Let me look at you properly before you begin talking. I never can drink my fill in long enough, love." He studied her. "You've gotten thinner," He said shaking his head. "I knew it. Something has been bothering you," She silently shook her head. "You're pale, too." He said softly. He reached up and gently fingered a curl that lay angelically on her lily-white shoulder. "I watched you all evening. It's not hard to tell when you're trying to cover up your true emotions. You're not that transparent, dear, but when someone knows you like I do...." He trailed off. Did he truly know her? Did he know her faults, her gifts, or her passions just by looking at her? Did his blue-grey eyes truly take in all those details about her? She kept seeing Erik's steely eyes wash over her. She felt like he knew her very soul. Did Raoul know her like that?

"You've gone away from me again. To a world which I do not know how to get to, Christine Daae."

"You can only have wings to get there." She whispered.

"I can only imagine one person in this world than, only you...for you...you are the only person I know who could ever receive wings." Christine lifted her chin slightly. She thought she heard the sound of a violin. A moment later it was gone...

"I'm sorry I have not been here latterly. My brother wishes to get me acquainted with society so that I might take a bride. It is my burden. Though as long as she is a lovely mademoiselle, I do not mind..." He said softly. He slowly moved closer to her and put his hands on her shoulders.

"I've noticed you don't have any jewelry so... I... bought you something." He said nervously fiddling with his black dress coat pocket. He brought out a small velvet box and placed it in her hand. Christine gazed at him curiously.

"What is it?" She asked, a smile was playing at her lips. Never had she seen him so nervous!

"Open it, love." He said softly. She slowly opened it and inside, nestled on more velvet was a beautiful gold filigree diamond engagement ring with a brilliant-cut diamond set in14k white gold.

"Oh....Raoul." She whispered in awe of the diamond's beauty. "Is this...?"

"It's an engagement ring." He finished for her breathlessly. "Christine...I've loved you ever since I saw you that day when we were young. I will adore you and love you until I die...Will you marry me?"

"Raoul..." She said hoarsely. A delicate hand went to her throat. What could she say? Two men stood before her in her mind. Both she cared about deeply. How could one decided between the two. She gazed at Raoul. He stood passionately before her telling her how much she meant to him. What could she say? She meant the moon and the stars to Raoul. What did she mean to Erik? She meant the universe to Erik. She could see it in his eyes, how much he loved her. But one man could offer her a life, a plain life, a regular life. She would be happy, and she would bear many children. They would all live together in a large manor by the sea. It was a perfect life. But what if she wanted more than that? Maybe Raoul was the man for her. He could offer her love and happiness. That would satisfy her heart, but would it satisfy her soul? She did not know. She looked back at him. Her father would want her to marry someone she could love, but more importantly someone who could support her. She slowly grasped Raoul's shaken hands in her tiny palms.

"I would be honored to become your wife, Raoul." She whispered to him. He smiled broadly and took the ring out of the box, and began to slip it on her small ring-finger. "But I can't wear your ring."

"If....you do not like it we can pick out a different one." He said hesitantly. He wished to make her happy no matter what.

"No, no! Raoul," She laughed softly. "I love it. It's the most beautiful thing I've seen since a sunrise...but...." She sobered quickly. "If the Phantom were to find out about our engagement...he would kill you, Raoul." She looked around them at the shadows, praying that Erik was not listening.

"I have an idea." He said mysteriously drawing out yet another velvet box. "I was saving this for later, but it will come in very well right now. Open it."

"Raoul...I don't need anything else! I don't even need a ring to seal anything!" She protested softly.

"Open it." He said firmly. She slowly opened the box. On it lay a chain with a diamond pendant hanging from it.

"Oh! It's lovely. The diamond looks like something you would find on the moon, it glows so!" Raoul slid the diamond pendant off the chain and slipped the ring on to it.

"Magic." He grinned. "I'll get you another chain for the pendant." He said flippantly. He slipped the chain with the ring on it around her neck and clasped it. He then stepped back to take a better look at her in the candle light. His breath flew from him as he looked. "Beautiful." He said softly.

"Yes it is." She smiled looking down at the diamond ring, a curl fell into her eyes.

"I meant you, Christine." She her smile faded and a blush crept up her cheeks. He reached out and grasped her shoulders and gently placed a kiss on her lips. "I cannot wait to place the ring on your finger. We'll make a formal announcement in the paper this week."

"Raoul!" She placed her hands on his chest and backed away. "_No one_...must know...for now. I care for you to much to let anything happen to you."

"Very well..." He said reluctantly. He tenderly touched the ring. "We'd better get back...before I spoil your good name." He joked.

"They don't like me anyways...I don't mind."

"Well, I do. You're my fiancé now, and I need to keep a firm grasp on your reputation. I'm going to marry a pure woman. And that you are." He smiled. "Come..." He said placing his hand at the small of her back and escorting her back into the room. The shadows hardly moved, but a soft sweeping of a cape brushing the floor gave away one particular shadow. He had been betrayed once more...

A/N: I don't know why...but I wanted to be able to see the ring that he gave Christine...and I'm going to try to find the ring that Erik will give Christine...so look forward to that! If you want to see the ring, go to the link on my profile!

Tell me what you think!

Thanks for the reviews! They make my day!


	40. Masked Anticipation

The rose had fallen from Erik's hand against the hard cold stone flooring of his hall. Its petals had scattered in the air that had whipped around it as his cloak swept over it. His cold hands swept over his violin case, but he dared not open it and play. He feared he would break it with the strength and fury of his anger. She had dared to defy him again. No...she had not just dared. She had deliberately crossed the line with the full knowledge of the punishment if he found out. Well, he knew now. He gazed over at the organ. It looked so inviting. He slowly sat down and placed his fingers on the ivory keys. The melody that swept the room would have made any bystander weep with sadness. He poured so much soul into his piece. He remembered each time life...no it had been God who had dealt an unfair blow to his life when he had done nothing wrong. He pounded the keys harder and harder. Surely everyone above the cellars could hear the music by now. Sweat mixed with tears fell faster down his cheeks and tasted salty-sweet in his mouth. And then suddenly the music was no more. Erik's fingers still were poised on the keys, but he could not go on. His eyes were closed against the world. The taste of blood in his mouth became more and more bitterly sweet as it lingered. He had bitten his tongue in his anger. His hands went slowly to his face in sheer exhaustion. His breaths came in ragged gasps that tore through his body. He slowly opened his eyes and gazed about the room at nothing in particular. He slowly bowed his head in his hands. "Christine..." He whispered softly.

Christine quickly turned her head to gaze behind her. There was nothing. She had been sure she had heard her name. Her hand curled around the doorknob, and she quickly opened the door. With one last pensive gaze thrown behind her she entered her room, closing the world off behind her. She slowly let her silken shawl drop onto the bed, and began undoing the buttons of her dress. Her gaze went to the mirror.

"Where are you?" she whispered softly. "You've left me with nothing, but the bitter reminder that my voice brings to me every time I sing, my strange angel." A mournful smile crossed her lips. Her fingers seemed to automatically finish the task that she had no remembrance of anymore. Her plain rehearsal dress slipped to the floor. Now only clad in underclothes she shivered as air from a crack in the window overwhelmed her flesh. Her hands gently wrapped around the now fragile dead white rose that had been a gift from Erik. A petal broke off and fell onto the floor. Horror filled her. She carefully picked up the petal uselessly trying to fit the petal back onto the rose. She was trying to undo the past. She slowly placed the rose back onto her small vanity table. Her future was with Raoul now. She was bound to him now. She gazed at the ring that hung on the beautiful chain. It stayed hidden beneath lace on the higher neckline dresses she had begun to wear to hide it from the other girls, and from _him_. She frowned softly. It was too much for her. She would have chosen a different ring. She had been brought up to live simply, and she did not complain, but Raoul had looked so worried that she didn't like it. She couldn't have told him so. Her fingers brushed over the intricate expensive engagement ring. That was Raoul. He would shower gifts on her until she died. A soft knock shook her from her thoughts. She quickly slipped on her dressing gown and cracked open the door. It was one of the many servants who worked in the Opera House. Most people didn't even ever see them, they worked so efficiently and quietly.

"For you Mademoiselle, from Monsieur De Chagny." The petite maid with mousy brown hair said meekly, her eyes were lowered to the floor. The girl held one large flat box, and another smaller one. Both were done up in gold ribbon and burgundy paper.

"Thank-you." Christine smiled. She accepted the box and then dug into the pocket of her dressing gown for a coin to give to the maid.

"No, my lady, thank you!" The girl replied brightly staring at the coin with pleasure.

"Christine! My word!" Meg gasped pushing her way past the maid and into Christine's small bedroom. "Would you look at that! Probably from Monsieur De Chagny."

"Oh, I wouldn't have guessed." Christine replied dryly and she glanced at the golden crest of the Chagny's that had been placed on the very middle of the package . A smile crept over her lips as she watched her excited little friend plop on her bed. Meg had a right to be excited, Christine supposed. In the past two weeks leading up to the Masquerade ball, he had been giving her bits and pieces of her costume. It was his way of surprising her. He knew she could not afford a gown that would match her beauty so he was giving her one. A blush slowly flushed her cheeks. So far he had given her a white lacy fan, shoes with lacy accents, and a tiny white rose clip to slip into her hair. Now he had only to give her the dress and mask and her costume would be completed.

"Open it! I'm dying to see what he got you this time."

"Very well." She sighed and bit her lip with anticipation. Meg wasn't the only one who was excited. Christine slowly removed the gold ribbon, vowing to save it for a later occasion, to dress up one of her old dresses when she went to one of the many functions at the Opera House.

She gently slipped off the paper and opened the box. Meg's eyes grew large and her mouth gaped open. Christine withdrew from the box the most beautiful exquisite gown she had ever seen. It was soft white color, with too many lacy petticoats to count. The bodice was accented with tiny pearls, hand sewn. Thousands of hours had to have been spent on the pearls alone. Together they made a magnificent sight. The neckline was modestly low, and the detailed straps were sewn on to fall down from her shoulders. A corset had been ordered especially for the dress and matched it perfectly. Christine could hardly imagine how much money the dress and everything else had cost Raoul. Then she had to force herself to tear her eyes away from the dress and focus on the second smaller box. Meg fingered the dress hem reverently while Christine opened the other package. Inside was a lacy white mask that had a tiny silky white ribbon that would tie around her head and be hidden under her curls, whatever way she wore them. The mask had small pearls sewn onto it also like the dress. Christine's fingers swept over the mask. What would it be like to wear one? She slowly slipped it on and gazed at herself in the mirror. It came down to the middle of the bridge of her nose, and made her almost barely recognizable, but still a beauty. Her fingers reached up and traced the right side of her check in the shape of Erik's mask. She shivered slightly. Her body had gone cold. She could still hear his screams after many weeks echoing in her mind, and filling her nightmares.

"Christine?" Meg's voice called out. It was filled with concern. "Christine!"

"Meg?" Christine turned to look at her friend, a confused expression crossed her face.

"You moaned softly. Are you well?"

"Why yes." Christine nodded fiercely. She tried to clear her mind of the memories that haunted her. She shook her head slightly.

"You look beautiful, even in the mask." Meg smiled, thinking that Christine had moaned because of her appearance.

"Thank you."

"Would you look at the pearls? They are beautiful. Think of how much this dress costs!" Meg said gazing once more that the beautiful dress.

"I don't want to think about that!" Christine laughed.

"He really loves you."

"Yes he does." Christine replied softly.

"Well I must be off! I've got much to gossip about with the girls, but I'm going to keep the facts about your dress a secret! I want the girls to fall over tomorrow night when they see you!" Meg said hopping up.

"Very well! Have a good time." Christine laughed at her friend's excitement. She quietly shut the door behind her, and turned once more to the dress on her bed. A note lay forgotten on the floor, it must have fallen when she had taken the dress out. She stooped to pick it up and then broke the wax seal. Her eyes flew over the cursive script in growing happiness.

_My dearest Christine,_

_I know what you will say when you see this dress. My brother said the same thing. It's too much for a chorus girl, I know. But my love, I would not have you in anything else. I want you to look like the princess you are on the inside. So my Princess, will you meet your humble Vicomte in the ballroom tomorrow night? _

_Yours forever,_

_Raoul_

_Post Scriptum, Your crown will be here tomorrow night. The jeweler lied about when he would have it done. All my love! _

Christine folded the letter and slipped it back into the expensive parchment envelope with a smile. She would be going to the masked ball as a Princess...

A/N: I thought I would be nice and make a few comments to some reviewers!

Zacharaias the pain: I not offended by your review. In fact I welcome an honest view on my story. Thank you for your comment.

To all the phans who commented on the ring: Oh! If you liked this ring, oh my goodness you're going to love the ring that Erik gives Christine. It's beautiful.

Surrie: Your witty conversations in your reviews make me smile! Thanks!

DolphinAnimagus: I believe most of us are cringing at the thought that Christine accepted Raoul's proposal! But it makes me mad when people don't make Raoul a worthy opponent for the Phantom. Let's see how it turns out....

I'll be commenting on more reviewers' thoughts in the next chapter! I hope you enjoyed it!


	41. Masks

Erik's hand was blistered from holding the black quill for so long. He painstakingly dipped it back into the inkwell and scratched out the letters he had longed to form since the beginning of starting the Operatic piece. _Don Juan Triumphant_ was completed. He gazed over the large stack of parchment paper. A wilted red rose lay innocently there along with a stub of a candle. His eyes narrowed as he saw it and resisted the impulse to sweep it away. Why must he be reminded of her constantly. So it was with his passion and love for her. The mere thought of her was not far away in his mind even in his dreams. Nadir called it his obsession, and wondered how a woman could become only a mere prize to be won, a competition of sorts. But that was not what it was to him. No, it was more than that. He loved her. He longed for her. But he had seen her eyes as she had gazed into the Vicomte's own. Was it a flicker of uncertainty that he saw there? He lifted his hand up to his face, and fingered his mask. The words monster and demon had been names that had gone with him where ever he traveled. What path was he to travel now? He had already made up his mind that Christine had to be punished, and her lover killed. He would have her as his bride. The Phantom's bride. She would be wed to darkness. An angel of heaven married to hell. His eyes closed. Voices of reason bombarded him. He was going to hurt her even though he wouldn't lay a hand on her if he proceeded him. But with one fleeting glance back at the past his heart felt like it had been once again ripped open. She had betrayed him. She had pledge her love to another. She had taken away his mask, and she had stolen his heart. His hand curled into a fist and in one sweeping motion he sent the rose flying off the stack of papers where it came to a rest, bare and naked, for it's delicate petals had broken off in it's fall.

Today marked the fifth month of _his_ absence from Christine's life. She knew the dates by heart. They were practically drilled into her mind. Thoughts and questions still haunted her. His face haunted her. She slid off her plain blue dress and placed it carefully onto the bed. With some reservation she opened the lid of the white box. The strong smell of the dressmaker's lilac perfume assailed her senses. She slowly slipped the dress and it's many petticoats over her head. It felt like she was wearing a cloud it was so soft. She turned to look at herself in the mirror.

"Oh Raoul," She sighed softly. "It is to much for me. I'm simple, not extravagant. You don't have to try to please me." A crimson blush spread up her cheeks. She did look lovely in her own eyes. Never had she worn anything so beautiful. She placed the matching white shoes on her feet, knowing that they were going to ache after only the first hour of dancing. Raoul's face flashed before her eyes. Did Erik know of their deceit? How could she have been so foolish to think that he couldn't have. She had never felt safe in the shadows of the Opera House, and now this revelation made her feel even more uneasy. A hand went to the ring that hung on the chain around her neck. Did she dare wear it so openly tonight? No lace would be hiding it. Erik would know as soon as he saw it, if he was attending tonight. Did she dare? Her hand dropped away. She would wear it. If she had not seen her tutor in many months, why would he attend on tonight of all nights? In her heart she knew why tonight was so inviting to him. A large crowd to hypnotize with his power, the managers would be once again off their guard, and she would be with Raoul seemingly unprotected. It was simply a perfect night. She shuddered as she placed pins up in her hair leaving little tendrils to frame her face. She then slipped the beautiful pin Raoul had given her with the dress up into her hair, and put on the white mask.

Would even Erik recognize her with the mask on? Of course. One glance at her eyes would give away her disguise. Her eyes were full of fear and panic. She drew a red lip pencil over her pale lips to add a bit of color, but that only made her look like a harlot so she quickly dabbed it away with a handkerchief. She bit her lip out of habit as she surveyed herself in the mirror. She would do, but she was not ready to face the world or least of all Erik. She felt as if she would shake apart if she trembled any harder in her stiff shoes. Tonight would be painful for her. She would see Erik in every shadow. She knew even now that she would see him in every shadow. Even hearing the sound of a violin tonight would be torment to her soul. It would be like hearing imperfection. Erik's mastery of the violin came to mind. Whenever he played she could almost feel the intensity of the bow brushing the strings, and the way the music soared through the air. It gave her wings. Would she be able to listen to music that seemed paltry in comparison. For Raoul she would. Why she would do it for him she did not even know herself. It seemed the right thing to do. One glance out the window showed that evening was upon her whether she was to face it or not. She took a deep breath, and placed a shaky hand on the doorknob, praying for strength to get her through the evening...

A/N: Sorry for the shortness of the chapter, we all know what is yet to come. I will be a little long trying to write out the long scene for the next chapter. Oh and also in the next chapter I shall address questions or comments, I promise! R&R Please.


	42. Masquerade

A/N: I've had a lot of questions about whether this will be the traditional phantom story or not. I've decided that I'm not going to give anything away...at least not yet, as to what the ending will be. Thanks to all of you who reviewed. If you have any questions feel free to review and ask me!

Christine lifted her hand to make sure her mask was on firmly and peeked around the corner and looked down the stairs to watch the arriving guests. They were all dressed so beautifully. A rainbow of silks, masks, and glittering jewels all twinkled back at her. Meg hurried by her side and followed her gaze down below them. She said nothing for the longest time, knowing Christine needed silence. They watched as the wealthy elite of Paris entered the Opera House. Meg looked down at her own dress, tawdry in comparison of the rich ladies they were watching. She was wearing a soft pink dress with a low scooping neckline, and bodice that flattered her figure. She did look quite lovely even though she was not as elegantly dressed.

"We had better make our grand entrance. Mother will be looking for us. She is the appointed guardian to keep all of the girls from drinking too much tonight." Meg said with an impish grin on her face. "Though I don't know why she bothers, we only drink cheep wine offered by our beaus', I do believe the expensive liquor will make our tummies hurt, so why drink it?!" Meg giggled. Christine opened her mouth and then shut it in surprise at Meg's admission. Instead she flashed her friend a wide smile.

"Let us ascend then." Christine nodded. She placed her hand on the beautiful banister and began to slowly walk down the long staircase along with many other late arrivers. They followed the crowd through a hall into the ballroom. Meg stopped on the grand staircase leading down into the ballroom, barely avoiding having someone trip over the back of her dress at her sudden stop. Her mouth dropped open in amazement. The ballroom was grandly decorated with gold and blacks the signature colors of the Paris Opera House's Masquerade ball. Food was set exquisitely in the one corner it's tempting smells mixed with conflicting perfumes, making one extremely heady. Masks were in place, wraps had been discarded at the door, and the orchestra was already playing a waltz. Dancers slowly filtered on filling the dance floor with a glorious mix of colors.

Christine gently tugged on Meg's arm to get her out of the way. They both spotted La Carlotta at the same time and almost fell to the floor laughing at her costume. She was supposedly striving for a royal majestic looking peacock, but failed miserably. She ended up looking more like a miserable looking creature for her peacock feathers were wilting under the heat of the ballroom. She glanced over at the pair and gave them a seething look that managed to quiet their giggles. They then spotted Madame Giry who was dressed in black once again, but never had Christine seen her look so beautiful. The older woman's hair had been loosened in it's bun and a diamond clip had been placed in it. The black dress's neckline was lower than her usual attire, and the full skirt gave her an elegant look. She stood like a preying hawk watching the ballerina's twirl in their gaudy dresses with suitors twenty years their senior.

Two hour had passed and Christine had yet to see Raoul. Had he deserted her also? Please, it could not be true. She stood by the dance floor, watching Meg dance with a dashing fellow, feeling more alone than usual even though she was surrounded by people.

"Alone?" A warm voice sounded by her ear. She turned quickly but saw no one. She scanned the crowds, but saw no retreating figures. The voice had sounded so familiar. Was she hallucinating? With one last glance around the crowd she looked down at the pearls sewn onto the bodice and delicately touched it with a finger, it reminded her of Raoul. Where was he?

"It is a pity that someone so beautiful and young should be standing here alone. Care for a dance, or is your beau off on a mission to bring you some refreshment?"

"No," Christine replied looking up quickly. "I mean...no my beau is not here at the moment." She cringed inwardly at her own words, knowing that this older gentleman could take advantage of her statement and stay by her side the entire evening.

"Then dance with me." It was a command. She placed her hand in his and he swept her out onto the dance floor. He was older than her by almost thirty years. The gray in his ebony black hair made him look dangerously dashing. He was dressed in black velvet with gold embroidered into the collar and waistband. His black mask disguised him though he was probably another wealthy patron. His hand was almost lower than the small of her back, and she had to refrain from pushing him away. She was beginning to feel uneasy. "What is your name?" He whispered in her ear.

"Christine." She said softly, keeping her eyes on the other couples.

"My name is Christophe." He smiled silkily as he danced with her. "I wonder why you are not married off to some wealthy man yet." His tone implied dishonor and Christine was growing even more uncomfortable with the situation.

"They don't want me." Christine said so softly that the man almost did not hear her. His laugh bellowed out of him so loudly that others looked up at them. Their eyes narrowed. What was an impressionable young girl doing in the arms of an infamous cad?

"How could that be?" He asked stroking back a curl from her face. His fingers burned her skin with the intensity in his touch. His black eyes were like two pieces of black coal. Oh where was Raoul? She looked over his shoulder in search of a familiar face to rescue her. All she saw was masks as Christophe whirled her around the floor. Masks that reminded her of Erik. Of his haunting eyes and his voice that stirred her soul with passion that she never knew she had.

"You are charming." He pressed her closely to him, placing his mouth by her ear. "Meet me after the dance in the shadows of the theater so that we might become better acquainted with one another my pet?"

"No!" Her heart cried out. She could not embarrass herself in front of the crowd. It would ruin what reputation she had left! What was she to do?!

"Excuse me sir. Do you mind if I cut in?" Christine's eyes shut with relief. Someone had saved her honor. She turned slowly with her eyes still shut. Christophe had a firm grip on her arm.

"We were dancing." He said coldly.

"I could see that, but I wish to have the lady's company." The man said. The chatter around them had turned hushed whispers. People were watching the conflict.

"Very well." Christophe replied icily he let Christine's arm drop roughly. She opened her eyes and her gaze traveled up the man before her. He was wearing a royal blue soldier's uniform with regal looking silver cord lining the collar and sleeves. His blue eyes twinkled down at her from behind his mask which he quickly removed.

"Raoul." Christine nearly fainted into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her.

"Hello love," Raoul's warm breath felt like heaven against her skin. "I'm sorry I was so late, my brother kept me with his endless talk of business."

"It doesn't matter now." Christine whispered placing her hand in his. He placed his other hand against her back in a non-threatening way. She glanced around them. The dancing had begun again as if nothing had happened, but she received several haughty stares from some of the wealthy patrons dancing by her.

"You look beautiful." Raoul said looking at her breathlessly.

"I've never seen a handsomer soldier in uniform." She complimented.

"You like it?"

"Of course." She smiled. "You have good tastes considering that you picked this out for me." She glanced down at the beautiful gown she was wearing.

"You make it look lovely." Raoul laughed softly at her pleased expression. "Come with me Christine so we can talk privately without all these prying ears." She nodded and after the waltz ended he led her quietly off the dance floor and into a secluded corner far from the main stairway and the crowd.

"I've missed you." She smiled at him. "I've only read your words, but not heard your voice for a long time... too long."

"It's only been a few days, love."

"But it seems like forever." She replied passionately wondering why he wasn't more concerned.

"But it's not, dear heart...Christine, listen to me we have to talk of our future together."

"What about it?" She asked softly, her heart skipped a beat. She desperately hoped he had not reconsidered the engagement.

"When can we tell the world about our love?"

"Oh Raoul!" She gasped. "We've only been engaged a week." She sought around her mind for another excuse to keep him contented.

"Let us tell everyone so that we can be married as soon as possible. Then you can leave with me." The thought was so tempting.

"I can't leave!" Panic leapt in her heart. "He loves me...he will never let me go." Her eyes widened at her own words. He did love her. Her eyes slide shut. Why couldn't she love him back? She didn't understand what she felt for him. Was it love?

"But I love you even more than he." His eyes brightened as he gazed at her. "I will protect you."

"I know you will." She whispered bringing her hand up to his face. His boyish grin endeared him even more to her heart. Her face fell as she realized the truth. She would never be free of _him_. Raoul would never be able to marry her. She would forever be enslaved to the darkness.

"What's wrong?" Raoul asked gently brushing away a curl from her face.

"I will never be free of him, Raoul. I fear we will never be happy. I will always be haunted by him."

"No, you will be free of him, that I promise you."

"Please let us keep the engagement secret until I believe it is safe." She whispered.

"But Christine..." She quickly cut him off, not wishing to torture her mind with his pleas any longer.

"You don't understand _him_. You don't understand what he could do to us..." She trailed off as the sounds of the ballroom died away. She gazed over Raoul's shoulder in horror.

"...Heaven have mercy." She whispered in shock. The color drained from her face as she saw what she dreaded but pined for the most. Raoul turned as did everyone at that moment. It felt as if someone had blown an icy wind in the ballroom.

A man dressed all in crimson had appeared at the top of the long stairway. He was dressed as the Red Death. His long bloody hued cape gave him a gruesome feel. But it was his eyes that gave him away. Christine knew in an instant who it was. The haunted golden eyes that appeared in her nightmares. It was Erik. The crowd was silent. Looks of horror appeared on everyone's faces, for they knew who it was. It was the Phantom of the Opera.

"Good Evening..." Erik's voice echoed strangely in their ears. It was like he was right beside each of them. He was throwing his voice once again. He hadn't spotted her yet, maybe if she stayed in the back of the crowd. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her mind was screaming at her to do something, to disappear, to do anything but look at him. He slowly descended the stairs as if he was taunting them to do something. The managers looked at each other in complete terror. No one moved. No one said anything. All anyone could hear was gasps and the sound of Erik's terrible yet hypnotic voice.

"Why so silent good messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?" Erik's terrible laugh filled the ballroom. Christine shuddered and clung to Raoul, who held her tightly against him. "I have brought you a present in order to make up for my absence. It is my opera that I have written. It is _Don Juan Triumphant!_" With that he tossed Monsieur Firmin the heavy bundle of paper that made up the scores and lyrics for the opera. He grunted heavily as it hit his well padded stomach. Erik took a step closer. Now he was only five steps away from being on the ballroom floor. Christine shuddered as she realized he was searching the crowd for any sign of her. Their eyes met, and it was as if she was looking into death's eyes for she began to shake violently. Raoul tightened his grip around her. Christine still met his gaze and it was if he was calling to her in her mind, for she slowly shook off Raoul's embrace and took a timid step forward, and then another, and another. Raoul seemed to be in shock for he did not move. The crowd was parting as she crossed the floor. Now she was standing in front of him. Their eyes were still locked with each other's in an internal battle of emotions.

"Erik." She whispered. No one else could hear her, but him. As if in a trance she saw him lift his hand and place it gently on her check. His gloved hand moved down her throat and onto her collar bone. His hand slid lower until it was upon the necklace. His eyes seemed to ask her a question, but she knew he knew the answer. His eyes narrowed slightly behind the mask of death he was wearing. His fingers curled around the ring and chain and in one swift motion all of Christine's hopes were gone. He tore off the necklace that held her engagement ring from her neck. She felt no pain, but in her heart she was crying out to him for mercy. She watched him hold the necklace like it was a hot coal and like it was a talisman of evil.

"I trust you will do as I specified in the note of instructions. You must remember, gentlemen, what I am capable of." He said ignoring Christine. She felt like she was dying inside. To be so close to him yet so far away... so very far away. "Farewell, messieurs..." With one last glance in her direction he wrapped his crimson cloak around his shoulders and with one sweeping motion her threw something at the ground and a thick hazy smoke enveloped his figure and when the smoke cleared he was gone.

It was as if the dam had broken, screams and cries of horror filled the ballroom. People were running out of the ballroom as quickly as they could. Christine stood as people rushed around her, gazing at the spot where Erik had once stood. Her mind couldn't take what was happening. The scene was so chaotic that it could not be controlled by the managers or by Madame Giry. Shouts could be heard in the lobby of the Opera House now. Christine and Raoul were left alone. He slowly came from behind and gently put his arm around her shaking shoulders. He felt helpless as to what he should do for her. He slowly lowered her to the ground as she collapsed against him in sobs that shook her body...


	43. Angels of Another Kind

The ring slipped from the chain into Erik's palm. He brought a candle closer to him to inspect it more thoroughly. The diamonds glittered back at him, almost mocking him with their beauty. He closed his fingers over the ring his eyes closing for a moment.

What had he to do, but wait while the rehearsals for Don Juan took place? He would sit in his lonely domain and ponder the decisions he had made of late and that usually drove him to the point of madness. He slowly placed the ring on the small ornate table by the settee in which he was sitting. He could not stray from the plan now. He was in too deep to turn back now. A deep sigh rippled through him, echoing against the stone walls of his home...of his prison. He would waste away in the darkness until he was nothing.

Christine's eyes opened quickly in the darkness of her room. Her eyes focused on the figure that sat in the chair near her bed. Her hands unclenched from the bedcover. She had been afraid that Erik was in her room. Why did he haunt her so? Why did everything about him seem to creep into her dreams and turn them into nightmares? Her heart fluttered with anxiety as she remembered when she had pulled away his mask. Her eyes shut trying keep out the image of his face. A strangled sigh from her, brought Raoul to his feet.

"Raoul." She breathed softly. He quickly went to her.

"Christine." He whispered, stroking her hair gently. His touch warmed her. "I am here, love. All is well." He had stayed with her, watching her like a guardian angel while she slept restlessly through the night.

"Don't leave me...please." She closed her eyes as he sat beside her on the bed and wrapped his arms around her. The events of that night had left her feeling as though she had been dreaming, that none of it had ever happened, but it had.

"I won't. I thought you were sleeping so I didn't want to disturb you."

"You would never do that." She felt so tired and so weak. She couldn't face the morning light. Darkness seemed to suit her for once in her life. She had Raoul to protect her, and that was better than any night candle. "What shall we do?" She asked him uncertainly after a moment.

"Don't worry about it darling. I have decided to talk to the Manager's of the Opera House as soon as the sun rises. Most likely they are still awake sorting out the night's events. We will settle the score with this Phantom."

"Oh Raoul. I'm so frightened. I do not know what to do with myself. I hate feeling this...this weakness." Raoul gazed down at her tenderly.

"That is understandable, Christine. You've been though a lot in the past year. Think of all the wonderful things we will do together when we are free from the eyes of the shadow. Let that fill your mind. Think no more on your fears. Rest now, for tomorrow will hold troubles enough." He squeezed her hand in his and placed the coverlet back into place. "Sleep."

"Stay with me until I do?" She whispered wearily.

"Of course." He smiled gently down at her. He followed her gaze to see her discarded costume from the masquerade ball lying forgotten on a lone chair. She was no longer in her finery, she was just plain now in her nightgown. Raoul had turned away as she slipped behind her dressing screen as she slipped it on. She could barely keep from weeping then. Now her eyes and body were too tired, although she knew she could cry more. The night had been too much for her. Raoul had offered flimsy excuses for why she was upset, completely skipping over the fact that the Phantom had been in the same room as she. "Sleep now." He said softly. He rose slowly and took a seat near her bed. Her eyes were weighted down by weariness, and soon she drifted off into a nightmare filled sleep.

Erik slowly picked up a yellowed envelope from a pile of rubbish he had kept around for memory's sake. He thought he had burned the letter long ago. His eyes narrowed as he pulled the old letter out from its envelope. His mother's gentle cursive that swept across the page met his eye. Her writing was not as beautiful as it had once been. In fact this letter seemed like it had been penned in a rush of madness, like she suddenly remembered she had a son. He quickly looked away from the letter, not willing to relive certain memories. He finally looked back down at the piece of yellowed paper in his hand and began reading it, his fingers tightening on the fragile letter with every word that he read. She had written it before the illness had seized her mind, before even uttering the word monster, and before he was even born. She spoke of promises. She spoke of the future, and that the entire world was his. Only once had she ever written about his father, and that was in this letter. She had written that he was a wealthy man with the power to command attention. She had said he should be proud to have such a father. Which should he be proud of? The fact that he was deformed or that his "father" had deserted them.

He slowly let the letter fall away from his hand. In any matter this only strengthened his resolve against the world. It did not matter anymore what anyone thought, it never had. His eyes went to the ring that sparkled in the candle light. Only hours before it had been on a chain around Christine's neck. He had been so close to her. No matter. He would continue on as he always had. His eyes lingered on the ring. Yes, he would. He looked down at the letter and without another thought, he picked it up and tore it in half. His past would be just that... the past.


	44. Twisted Every Way

A/N: I know I haven't written an author's note lately. I've been really busy. But we are getting to the important climax of the story. Just be patient, it will come soon. I'm already working on the next chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

"This can not happen!" Monsieur Firmin's voice was raised loudly. He could be heard out in the hall, even though the door was shut. Monsieur Andre was trying diligently to calm him down, but to no avail. They had the Phantom's opera spread out before them on the desk in their lavishly furnished office.

"It is so frustrating! It's like he picks these notes out of the air!" Andre agreed.

"Am I intruding gentlemen?" The Vicomte de Chagny asked rapping on the door and stepping in uninvited.

"Why, no of course not." Firmin said quickly schooled his features trying to hide his anger.

"Come have a seat, Monsieur." Andre said helpfully motioning to a chair.

"Thank you. Gentlemen, I take it you are pouring over the "gift" the Phantom has left us."

"And what a gift it is." Firmin replied dryly. He slowly flipped a page. "Even most of the people who play in our orchestra cannot make heads or tails out of the music! They say its gibberish, much too advanced for any of them. I do not know how this will be accomplished. But I do believe you would like to know that Mademoiselle Daae will be playing the lead...Aminta."

"So the Phantom has cast her in the lead. It is all part of the web that he is weaving." Raoul said thoughtfully.

"Uh, excuse me? Web?"

"I've been speaking to Christine about this matter for sometime. It seems she has intimate contact with this Phantom. He has been using her for sometime." Raoul said darkly. "For that he will be severely punished, in this life and the next, of that I am sure!"

"Are you saying you have a plan to capture this demon?" Andre asked.

"Not yet." Raoul said, his eyes dropped to the floor. The manager's exchanged glances. "I was thinking about talking to her first about this, though." Raoul said raising a brow at the eager pair. "Don't you think this will be a little traumatic? Mademoiselle Daae has already been through so much."

"You heard for yourself, sir, what the Phantom said he would do if the casting was not followed out to the letter!" Firmin protested.

"I did not say she was not going to do it."

"Why don't we send for her and find out?" Andre suggested.

"Very well." Firmin nodded. He pulled a tasseled cord and a servant came in moments later. "Fetch Christine Daae, won't you please." The servant nodded and went off.

"Understand gentlemen, that she is still very tired from last night's events." Raoul warned them. Andre impatiently tapped the desk with his fingers.

"Of course." Firmin nodded.

"What is the meaning of this!!?" A shrill Italian voice met their ears causing them to cringe inwardly.

"Ah, there you are." Firmin greeted the former diva. She was dressed lavishly in bold purples and dark magenta colors. Her fur trimmed cloak was even dyed to match her outfit.

"I saw the list you posted outside this very door! What is the meaning of this? You cast me as a part in the chorus?!! How dare you!" Carlotta shrieked, handing off her hat to a seething Piangi who held it reverently.

"Cara, calm your-self. I'll do the talking!" He replied boldly.

"No need! I have this handled!" She sniffed.

"Now my lady, please understand we had no choice in the matter of casting!" Andre said placing his hand upon hers in a comforting manner.

"Oh yes you do! You are the managers are you not?" Her voice was raised in anger, she slapped Andre's hand away.

"Of course we are."

"Than change it!"

"I cannot passionately play the part of Don Juan unless Cara plays opposite me!" Ubaldo complained, his deep voice rumbling out in an operatic tone.

"Do you 'ear him??" Carlotta exclaimed. "Do you 'ear the outrage in his voice. He wishes me to play the part, not some girl with no talent!!"

"Ah Mademoiselle!" Firmin called out in relief. Christine stood in the doorway looking pale.

"There's our little flower!" Carlotta screeched.

"Christine." Raoul greeted. He held out his hand, which she accepted and he led her to a chair. Carlotta practically threw herself on a nearby chair in order to look as prim as Christine did.

"I take it you've seen the list we posted."

"Yes," Christine said softly. "I did."

"Well? Have you nothing to say." Andre asked.

"What must I say?" She asked meekly. "It is the Phantom's opera. I do only as he commands for the time being."

"Excuse me." Madame Giry entered the room with a cold gaze. "I have a letter for you messieurs."

"Not another letter." Andre sighed.

"More commands from this Opera Ghost!" Carlotta snorted in contempt.

"Shh! Let her read it. Go on Madame Giry." Firmin waved for them to be quiet. She slowly opened the letter which was again written in scarlet blood. She began reading, her voice was steady, but her hands shook ever so slightly. No one noticed it but Christine.

_Fondest greetings to you all,_

_I have a few instructions for you before rehearsals start, which I expect to be followed to the letter. Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal behavior of strutting like a peacock around the stage. Our Don Juan must lose some weight, it's not healthy at his age to carry around so much around his waist. The managers must learn that their place is in an office not in the Opera House. As for Mademoiselle Christine Daae, no doubt she'll try her best. It's true her voice is good. She knows though if she wishes to excel, she must return to me, her teacher. If only pride will let her. If you do not obey me, than you will all be severely punished, know that for certain good messieurs. _

_Your Obedient Friend and Angel_

All was quiet. Christine's eyes were widened and her body was shaking with fear. Raoul was standing rigidly upright with a fierce gaze, looking at the letter. The managers were trying desperately not to show their fear.

"What are we to do then?" Andre asked hopelessly.

"We have all been blind. For we have held the key to the Phantom's downfall all along." Raoul said tenderly gazing down at her.

"Let us hear it." Firmin urged.

"We do this cursed opera as the Phantom commanded. Christine will do her part, for with her singing his opera, we know that he will certainly be in attendance. We bar every door and exit with guards, and at your signal, monsieur the Phantom will be shot in his own Box." Christine's eyes widened in shock.

"This is madness!" Madame Giry suddenly spoke out.

"Madame Giry!" Firmin said in outrage.

"Are you on his side, Madame?" Raoul asked her uncertainly. She took an unsteady step back.

"Of course, messieurs. I am. But we must be careful! We have seen him kill!"

"But you do not wish to offer anything that we could use against the Phantom."

"I dare not!!" The ballet mistress shook her head.

"Christine Daae doesn't deserve the part! She doesn't have the voice!" Carlotta argued. The manager's ignored her and gazed intently at Christine.

"Please..." Christine whispered, but Carlotta cut her off.

"The crowd wants me! It's me they want! Not some wallflower from the chorus! I can't believe someone would cast you as the lead!"

"The Phantom had his reasons, my lady." Raoul said placing his hands on Christine's shoulders in a comforting manner.

"No matter! The managers will clear up this mess!" Carlotta turned expectantly back to the managers who had turned pale.

"We dare not go against the Phantom's wishes!" Andre said anxiously.

"This is all a plot! And she is behind this!" Carlotta said pointing to Christine.

"Please...listen to me." Christine said urgently.

"Christine must be Aminta, or he will strike against us." Firmin agreed. Carlotta, Piangi, and the managers all started speaking at the same time. Raoul interjected several times, but to no avail. The din got so loud that Christine felt the urge to cover her eyes and shut her eyes, to do anything but listen to this mess that seemed to point to her. She had been the source of all this!

"Please! Be quiet!" She stood, nearly knocking over her chair. Everyone was silenced by her outburst. They were all too surprised to speak.

"I don't want to do this! I won't have any part in this plan. Let La Carlotta have the part. I cannot do this." She said her eyes were downcast. She clenched her hands. To defy Erik meant turning her back on what he had given her. He had given her all he had!

"No! No you must!" Firmin said leaning over to her.

"Why is this an issue for you Mademoiselle?" Andre asked.

"Christine, they will not make you do this." Raoul said suddenly. "But tell them why you cannot." The room was silenced once again as she gathered her courage to speak.

"I cannot because I fear this is a plot to take me from you forever, Raoul! If he takes me I fear I will never see you again! I cannot do it! I feel that I will never be truly free from him! He loves me so, but it is more than love. It is a lust for the soul. He gave me my voice, and I heard his! Please I am afraid if he finds me than it won't ever end. He will always be there singing songs in my head. Oh Raoul." She said softly her eyes were distant, and her mind seemed far away. Carlotta's eyes widened.

"She's mad!!" The diva cried.

"You said yourself you knew that I would always protect you." Raoul soothed. He wrapped his arms around Christine. "I will not let anything happen to you. But while he lives he will always be there to put doubts in your head. He will always haunt us, till the end of our days."

"I do not know what I shall do. Either way I lose. This does not feel right. Am I to risk what I have now to earn the chance to live freely. I know this is the only way, but yet I wish I could refuse. I feel chained to the man who gave me my voice. I do not wish to do this. If I do agree what will come from it?" She  said softly. She stood and walked to the corner of the room away from the group. She studied Raoul's face for a moment and then breathed in deeply considering what she would have to give up for such deeds as she was about to do. She would be betraying the angel she once cared for. Where had that admiration gone? It had been dashed upon the stone the moment Erik had revealed who he truly was to her. "Oh If I agree what horrors await me in my next step on this shadowed path, in this the Phantom's opera?"

"Christine, love. Don't think that I don't care about you. I want to be free from this as much as you do. All prayers rest on your shoulders, my dear. We will make this work." He said walking over to her. He rested his hands on her shoulder. His presence no longer felt comforting to her.

"I will do it." She said softly. She felt cold. What had she agree to? She realized with a shudder that she had agreed to Erik's death. She, in her mind, was holding a jagged knife with her his blood dripping from it. She hid her face in her hands.

"What have I done?" She whispered.


	45. Following Angels

A/N: Ok now we're getting to the good stuff. This was a hard chapter to write, consideringthat Ididn't know how I should take it, so I want some feedback to tell me how you thought I did with this scene. I love your comments! Thanks for being so honest with me! Remember if you have any questions feel free to ask them in your reviews and I will answer them as soon as possible!

* * *

Christine slowly took the hand of the carriage driver as he helped her down. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a few coins. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to take you to the caretaker's home myself? It's a long walk. All the way down that road there." He pointed at a dusty road shaded by willow trees leading to a dark house connected to a church.

"No thank you, I prefer to walk." She smiled gently as she smoothed down her skirts.

"Very well mademoiselle."

"Come back for me tomorrow at dawn and there will be more then." She said softly. The driver nodded back at her, pocketing the money immediately. She turned towards the path and after a moment of reconsideration she finally started making her way to the graveyard. The trees moved slightly in the cold wind. She shivered and drew up her black cloak and hood closer to her. Today was the anniversary of her father's death. She had never visited his grave in Perros before, it only a day's journey away from Paris. Christine could see her breath in the already cold air of October. Winter would be harsh this year. She could feel it. Dusk was slowly falling over the pathway and its arrival quickened her steps. She could now see the small dilapidated house connected to a tiny church more clearly. She had been told that the priest would let her stay in a spare room for the night, but first she was going to pay her respects. As she got closer she saw an older man winding his way around the graves. He was carrying a shovel over his shoulder. Grey clouds were rolling in above them ushering dusk into the sky.

"Monsieur!" Christine called out. He finally took notice of her and put down his shovel as she came towards him. "Bonjour, Monsieur."

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle." He swept a dirty hand through his white hair.

"I have not been here in a long while. Will you help me find a certain grave?"

"Certainly. What be your late husband's name?"

"Oh no sir, my father." Her eyes dropped to the ground.

"Surely not, one as young as you are should not have to suffer the woes of death."

"I wish it were not so, but it is true."

"Very well my dear. What is the name?" His eyes gazed down at her kindly.

"Daae." She said gazing out at the large cemetery. It took over a large portion of the countryside, marring its beauty with tragedy.

"I know that grave well, for I tend to it often."

"But sir, that requires money which I do not have at this time." Her mouth opened in protest. The older man placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"You do not owe me anything. It has already been paid for by a wealthy benefactor. I'm surprised you do not know this." His voice was kindly and reminded Christine of a grandfather figure, something that she had never had.

"By who?"

"I believe the letter was signed by the Vicomte de Chagny. I believe that family lives in Paris."

"Indeed they do sir, I know the name well." She said softly. _Raoul. _He had done it with out telling her. Never had she met someone so kind as he.

"The grave is there, past those trees there." He said pointing over at the spot far from them. I will tell the Father that you are here and he can arrange for you to stay over night if you wish."

"Thank you." She replied gratefully.

"Here, you'll be needing this." He said handing her a small lantern she had not seen before. She dipped her head in gratitude. She looked warily at the lowering sun. The air was growing colder. With a heavy heart she slowly set off towards her father's grave. The lantern was outstretched before her, it's flame now gave her more light than the sun did. The lowering sun cast shadows over the graveyard and the resting places of the dead. She shivered as she walked along the deserted paths. She was terrified of the dark, but for her father she was going to try and be brave. She only had tonight to pay her respects. Rehearsals for _Don Juan _began the next evening. That thought brought shivers to her body. When the managers had let her see the parchments that contained Erik's opera she had been shocked at the passion and obviously risqué words, but when she had glanced at the notes she would sing as Aminta she had almost cried. Erik had rewritten some of the notes just for her and her vocal range. That was what frightened her the most. He loved her enough to do such a thing.

Finally she reached the site of the grave she was seeking. It was surrounded by other headstones that weren't nearly as well kept as her father's. The willow trees' leaves all fluttered in a cold wind. She slowly walked around the headstone that bore her father's name. Lilies lay on the grave, reminding her of Raoul. The lone rose she had bought had withered from the lack of water, but she laid it on the mound of now settled dirt that covered the cold body of her papa. All the cemeteries in Paris were too expensive for her to bury her papa there, so she had chosen Perros. Her father would have loved the countryside. She reached out her hand and brought it over the words that had been carved in it. The headstone had been kindly donated to her out of pity by a man who's trade was carving names and dates into cold unfeeling pieces of rock. He had carved in it for her, her papa's name, birth date, and finally the day of his death. That's all there was to mark the passing of a great man. If she had been richer she would have added a message to go under the facts about a man no one would ever meet again. Something about a loving father and how his music would live on...it sounded paltry in comparison to his lost life. A tear streaked down her cheek unbidden. She reached up to wipe it away. She slowly sat the lantern down by the grave and knelt by the headstone, wishing she could bring back the man she loved with all her heart.

"Oh Papa." She whispered. The hood of her ebony cloak fell back showing her untidy curls that threatened to spill out of the bun she had clumsily placed it in. Her eyes welled up with tears she had tried to contain since the night of the masquerade ball. Her face went to her hands, and not caring how dirty her mourning gown was going to get she collapsed in sobs by the grave.

"Your little angel has fallen, she can no longer fly!" She cried. "...I need you still, my papa." She gazed at the tombstone longingly. "Oh if only I could bring you back. I would give anything...even my voice and soul." More tears cascaded down her cheeks. The cold wind did not comfort her, neither did the dark.

"Don't cry little one." A soft warm voice filled her ears. Her mind reeled at the possibilities. Could it be her father? She slowly raised her head to look. The figure was to shielded by the shadows she could not make out who it was. Fear flamed up inside of her. The figure emerged more from the darkness. She knew in an instant who it was. It was _Erik_. Her heart beat anxiously inside her. Did he come here to steal her forever away from Raoul? She watched him as he straightened slowly from behind a nearby headstone. His black cloak and clothing almost blending in with the night. His golden eyes shone out at her from the darkness.

"Won't you let me mourn in peace, Erik?" She said bitterly. She was surprised at her own words. He did not speak for a moment as if also shocked by her outburst. He regarded her with a look she could not interpret.

"So the rose has grown thorns." He said coldly.

"Please...leave me be. I am only trying to mourn for my father." She turned her face away. Her heart was once again dying with grief. She could not deal with Erik's presence right now. It was all to much for her.

"Your father has been dead for years, mon ange." Erik said his voice softening.

"I am not going mad as some think, I know he is dead." The words were spat at her tutor in complete disgust. Erik stood still in the darkness, but his eyes narrowed at her next words. "You yourself know about letting go of the past. I'm sure I know a little of your past. I'm smart enough to guess. What is hard to let go of, Erik? The people who taunted you or the people who shunned you." She said angrily. Without warning he was there by her side, a gloved hand was at her throat, his face was inches from hers.

"You know nothing of my past, _little flower_. You know nothing of what it's like to be caged, beaten, and screamed at all because of your face. No, you know nothing of my past. But I have a question, _Christine_, how could anyone love someone so spiteful and selfish as you?!" She flinched at his words. He was right. She knew nothing of his past, and she was as he said. Her eyes closed, forcing a tear to slowly roll down her cheek. He watched it fall and gently drop against his glove. He slowly withdrew his grip on her throat, but stayed near. He waited until his voice grew steady. His voice was soft and he whispered it by her ear. "You know nothing of longing or sadness, Christine. You might know of those, but you have never truly felt them. For if you did than you would know of how I feel every time I am near you." She jerked back at his words. "I am offering you a chance to return to me, I will forget about your transgressions against me." Christine's eyes fell to the lilies that lay on the grave.

"I...I am already loved by one, Erik." She whispered. She searched her heart. Did she love Raoul? She did not know. Oh what freedom she would feel if she only knew! She was chained to two very different people, and until she found the key, she would never be free from these two men.

"Does this mean you love him also." His words were rough and he stood to be away from her. She felt her heart cry out for him to stay beside her.

"I do not know." She said softly.

"You cannot live a double life forever, my dear. Sooner or later you must choose between us. You know what will happen if you chose your dear Vicomte."

"Stop it!" She cried out. "Stop threatening me!" She tried to stand, but her foot caught on the hem of her dress and she stumbled backwards.

"Christine." He uttered her name in a soft whisper. She quickly shut her mouth. He slowly reached his gloved hand out and smoothed a few loose curls behind her ear. Her skin tingled at his touch. Even though his hand was gloved she could feel the intensity with which he touched her. She closed her eyes as he hand slid to her cheek. She leaned her head against his strong palm. He caused her to become confused every time she was with him. Her heart fluttered within her breast at the feel of his touch on her cheek.

"Christine?" Her name was echoed by an entirely different person. Her eyes flew open. The lantern had long since gone out so it was hard to see in the darkness, but she knew in an instant who the voice belonged to. _Raoul_. She quickly stumbled away from Erik, begging him with her eyes not to hurt the Vicomte.

"I see the _he_ has not forgotten you." Erik's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"He loves me." She whispered as if that was an answer to an unspoken question. "I know it, he does! That is why he came to me."

"Christine?" Raoul emerged through the shadows. When she turned to face him, she felt a brush of air against her back. She knew that Erik had gone. She breathed a sigh of relief. She did not know why Erik had not pursued the situation further. Maybe this was not the final confrontation that she knew would come eventually.

"Raoul, you should not be here," Christine tilted her head slightly in confusion. "Why did you come here?"

"I did not want you to have to mourn alone." He said sincerely. He had in his hands a soft silky bundle. "Meg said you would not remember to wear your thicker cloak, so I brought you one." He handed her the dark blue cloak, which she thankfully put on over her thinner black one.

"I was not alone," She whispered. "I..." She stammered, wondering if she should tell Raoul about Erik's presence or not. She decided against it. She wanted Raoul to be safe and he would be safest not knowing. "Your flowers were company enough to remind me of my true friends."

"It was in memory of your father, and in memory of what he lived for...what I live for everyday...you." He smiled gently stroking her cheek with his hand. She placed her hand on top of his.

"Thank you." She said softly. He looked at her strangely as if he was expecting some profession of love back from her, but he dismissed the thought from his mind immediately afterwards.

"We best get back to the church, the Father will be waiting for us. He said I could sleep there."

"I have to get back to Paris tonight, my brother has pressing engagements that he claimed have a higher priority on my time than you do dearest, but he will soon see who adamant I am about you, love." He smiled fondly down at her. "I shall walk you back, maybe even say a prayer for your father whilst I am in the church." Christine took his arm and forgetting the dark lantern they slowly set off. Christine felt protected in his arms. She did not know that a pair of golden eyes were watching them as they retreated into the shadows. That knowledge would have left her feeling less certain about the future.

* * *

Raoul slowly slipped into the darkened church, candles burned all around him. He slowly bent on one knee to pray. Christine had been concerned for him that the long journey home would tire him out. It would, but it had been worth it to see her, and not let her be alone as she had been for so very long in her life. She was now safely in the house adjoining to the church having a late night supper of bread and hot soap that the caretaker of the graves had prepared for her. It would do good for her. She was far to pale for his tastes. She had that same frightened look in her eye that scared him as well. Her voice was always so soft as if she had something to hide. 

A flash of golden light flickered in the back of his view, as if someone had moved a candle.

"Father, please come bless my prayers." Raoul offered, thinking it was the priest, but he was given no reply. He was quickly on the alert. There was an intruder in the church. He slowly turned around, but all was in shadows. He could not see much past the golden flames of the candles. There. He had seen movement. He quickly picked up a candle and it's holder to seek out the mysterious intruder.

"I know there is someone in here. Show yourself!" He shouted not one to be daunted by mere shadows.

"Ah, but do you really want to be shown?" A voice asked beside his left ear. Raoul quickly turned, but no one was there. Sweat beaded on the nape of his neck. Whoever this person was he was trying to frighten him, but he would not let him! Raoul suddenly could make out a moving shadow. It's golden eyes shone out, illuminating the darkness around it.

"What sort of devilry is this??" Raoul shouted at the advancing figure.

"Something you should not have dabbled in, young Vicomte."

"I say! Show yourself!" He said again.

"As you wish." The voice said with a cruel tone edging out from behind every word. The figure was suddenly right by Raoul. It was wearing black, that was how he blended in so well with the shadows. It was also wearing a black mask, that it's eyes illuminated making the figure seem even more evil. It lifted a gloved hand and whisked away the mask. Raoul did not even need the candle anymore to see what horror lay before his eyes. The creature's bright golden orbs was light enough. Raoul's eyes widened and fear made his heart beat rapidly in his chest. Now he knew who this figure was. Christine had spoken of him often. It was the Phantom of the Opera, who's face was too horrible to mention let alone see.

"You will never be able to give _her_ all her soul desires." With one quick motion Erik swiftly struck the back of the Vicomte's head with a silver candle stick. Raoul fell fast and hard, crumpling unconscious onto the sanctuary's floor. The Phantom quickly stepped over the body and disappeared into the bitterly cold night...


	46. Looking for Light

A/N: I know this is a short chapter, but once you read the end of this chapter you will understand what is coming next. That next chapter will most definately be longer. I hope you enjoy a little of Christine's thoughts in order to tie you over for a while. Tell me what you think as usual. Thank you for the encouraging reviews.

Raoul's ragged appearance at the Paris Opera House only a few weeks ago had encouraged Christine's wavering resolve. Was she doing the right thing by committing herself against the Phantom…against Erik? Her own soul was fighting for the truth. Even if the truth wasn't what she wished to hear.

"Mademoiselle?" It was Monsieur Reyer. Christine turned her head to face the short man who sat impatiently at a piano on the stage. They were having rehearsals for _Don Juan Triumphant. _"Are you ready to continue, or shall we take another break?" He asked quite sarcastically.

"Non, non." She shook her head graciously. "I am sorry. Please continue."

"Thank you for your permission." He said and then quickly turned to address a baritone on the correct way to hit a right note. Christine heard a arrogant sniff that came from the direction of Carlotta who was unaccustomed to sitting in the back room when it came to rehearsals. She glanced back at Meg who was chattering in a whispery tone with a new girl in the chorus. Dear Meg she took so many girls under her wing.

Christine's eyes fell upon the booklet that she held in her hands. On the cover _Aminta_ was written in flowing script. The name sent a shiver down her back. She was haunted by the image of Erik bent over the organ pounding out the notes to his opera. She hated to think how long it took him to complete it. The book she held was very thick. She brushed back an unruly curl that had fallen in her eyes. Her attention was turned back to the piano and what was going on around her. She had once again pushed out the world and had heard nothing that Monsieur Reyer was ranting about. He muttered furiously that rehearsal was dismissed. Carlotta flung her furs around her and stomped off the stage with Ubaldo Piangi following close by. Obviously she had yet to get over the sting of being replaced once again.

Christine lingered on the stage until everyone had gone. She felt better being alone. She could sort out her thoughts without the confusion of a thousand other voices. She had enough voices in her head to keep her company. She slowly picked up her cloak and put it on. The Opera House was getting colder every day with winter so close by. She just couldn't keep warm very well anymore. It was like the warmth had been squeezed out of her by fear. She didn't even understand it anymore. Her fingers trailed over the keys of the piano as she walked by. The feeling of the ivory beneath her fingers stopped her. She hadn't touched a piano for so long. Not since she was young when her father's travels had taken them to stay in a flat above a music store. He had taught her to play. But he had always told her that you didn't need a piano to make music. You had an instrument wherever you went. It was your voice. She looked longingly at the piano. She could remember the feeling of her father's strong arms around her as he taught her how to play. The memory was painful to recall. It had been when they were happy and content to simply move about wherever they pleased. She withdrew her hand from the keys. She couldn't bear to play. Not now…not ever again. She slowly walked off the stage and took the main hall up to a small staircase, not really caring where she was going. She just needed to get away. Away from the shadows that haunted her. She leaned against the wall in a deserted and forgotten hall.

_Don Juan Triumphant_ would be a première that would attract the wealthy patrons who flocked to the Opera House in droves. Erik would be pleased. She was not. Already she knew this would be the most demanding role she'd ever played. She couldn't understand Aminta's feelings. She struggled to and tried her best to find common ground. And then suddenly it came to her. They were both seemingly innocent people who were manipulated into what other's wanted. It seemed so simple, but yet she knew it was far more complicated than that. Erik didn't give his character's one layer. They were made up of mixed feelings, desires, and hidden lusts. Honesty was also hardly found in most of his characters…except Aminta. Erik had put much of himself into the grain that made up _Don Juan_. She believed he had taken much of what he had seen in his life and placed it in his opera. Certain words he used when writing the lyrics of his piece jolted her when she read them for she was so strongly reminded of him. Her thoughts traveled quickly to what had happened in the graveyard. She shuddered as she remembered what she had seen in his eyes. It had been love. He loved her. His touch had been so gentle even when his hand was at her throat. She could still feel the soft leather of his black glove against her cheek. Her heart was so torn. How could she love two men? Or at least care for. She knew Erik was right. She had to choose. But no matter what she knew one thing at least…her fate was to be sealed like Aminta on the night of the opera. It was only three days until she would lure Erik to the light…and to his doom.


	47. Don Juan Triumphant

A/N: And finally here we are almost to the end. Just a note, _singing_ is shown in italics. Tell me what you think. Thanks!

Raoul had taken every precaution necessary to ensure she would be and remain safe the entire night. Christine peeked out behind the curtain into the audience. It was a full house. She could practically smell the expensive perfumes that lingered heavily in the air. But she wasn't looking at the wealthy. She was gazing out at the spot in the orchestra pit where she knew an armed man stood hidden waiting for the signal from Raoul to shoot. There were nearly fifteen armed men all spread out in the audience. Some guarded doors, others guarded the backstage wings, and some stood watch in the catwalks above her. She clenched her skirt nervously. It was hard enough to have a passionate love scene with someone she could care less about. She almost wished Carlotta had been given the role instead. She glanced around the backstage. The ballet dancers were chattering nervously amongst themselves. Carlotta was whispering angrily at her hair-dresser who had managed to poke a pin into her skull. Madame Giry was standing silently in a corner just watching her. The woman was odd to say the least. Her eyes held tales that she knew she would never hear. The ballet mistress slowly withdrew her gaze and settled her eyes on the group of ballerinas.

"You're not nervous are you?" A familiar voice asked her softly. She turned to see Raoul coming up beside her.

"Why yes." She whispered. He wrapped his arms comfortingly around her.

"Don't be, love. You'll be lovely as usual."

"Raoul..." She said softly. Her tone warned him that she was frightened.

"Do not worry about the Phantom." He said forcefully.

"That is what I'm afraid of." She replied slipping out of his arms. She looked at him sadly. "I don't believe you realize how powerful Erik is."

"I have seen his power. He is a coward to say the least. He manipulates innocent people like you and even killed a defenseless person! Ah yes. I have seen his power." Raoul said sarcastically. Christine dropped her eyes.

"I don't believe you understand." She shook her head. He was treating her as if her opinion didn't matter to him. She knew Erik so much better than he. She understood his anger. Raoul had only a taste of it. She sighed gently.

"Don't worry my love. Nothing will happen! I will be watching from right here." He said brushing a curl back behind her ear. He looked her over and smiled his approval. She did look beautiful in her Aminta costume. It consisted of a black corset with ebony lacy edging the sleeves and a long crimson skirt that brushed the tops of her shoes. A large shawl had been tied around her tiny waist and draped over the skirt to give her a peasant look. Her hair was allowed to hang free. An unfurling crimson rose had been placed behind her right ear for a dramatic effect. "You look beautiful." Raoul complimented. She didn't feel beautiful. She felt ashamed. Her costume was very immodest. She had never worn anything so revealing, but then it had been done before. Carlotta's costumes were made low and revealing all the time. But she wasn't Carlotta. She didn't like that sort of thing. She was doing this for Raoul…no…she didn't know who she was doing it for anymore. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the orchestra started up with the overture. Raoul quickly left her side to converse with one of the many armed men. Christine caught Meg's gaze. Her friend smiled comfortingly over at her and mouthed "good luck". Christine knew she would need it.

_"No thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy! No dreams within her heart, but dreams of love!" _She sang offstage as she entered. She could feel the very heat in the air even though it was nearly freezing outside. It startled her slightly, but she crossed to the table overflowing with food and wine. Most of the food was real except for some of the more exquisite items, like the roasted pig on a platter. She finally noticed the set for the first time. It had been done in blacks and reds blending beautifully together. Red roses lay on the table also. She slowly picked up an apple and rubbed it against her skirt to shine it. She could hear the dialogue being spoken to her far left. It was centered by the curtained bedchamber which was to be the focal point in the next scene. Passarino was completing the deception with Don Juan. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Piangi's large form scuttle behind the heavy curtains that hid the bed. It was almost her time.

"Master?" Passarino asked. He had seen her, and as the audience was about to see, she was about to be seduced willingly by Don Juan. But something was wrong and she knew it instantly. The voice that answered back was not Ubaldo Piangi's. Dear Mercy… it was Erik! She quickly shielded her emotions from her face so that the audience would not see that something was terribly wrong.

"_Passarino…go away…for the trap has been set and waits for his prey." _Erik answered eerily back. Ah he was clever. His voice sounded almost exactly like Piangi's! Only she realized it was not. Her body trembled. This was indeed the final night that she could dance around her feelings for both men who loved her. Erik would see to it that she would have to make a decision. She let the apple drop to the table. She winced as it cracked against the wood. The audience didn't notice it. They were too involved with the story already. All that could be heard was a slight gasp when Don Juan lifted the curtain revealing him to her. His body was covered by a black robe and his face was covered by the cowl of it. She could see nothing behind the hood. All she heard was the sensual voice that beckoned her to be his once again.

"_You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge…in pursuit of that wish, which till now has been silent…silent." _Erik slowly came towards her. Every eye in the theater was directed towards him as if he had placed a spell on them. _"I have brought you that our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses, and completely succumbed to me. Now you are here with me, no second thoughts, you've decided…decided." _He had finally reached her and with one gloved hand he beckoned to her to stand. She obeyed. He continued singing even causing her to become transfixed with him. She couldn't gather her thoughts.

"_Past the point of no return, no backward glances. The games we've played till now are at an end..." _He placed his hands above her shoulders, giving the allusion that he was touching her, but only the two of them knew that he was not. He was showing her grace. Showing her that he longed to touch her, but not to defile her in anyway. _"Past all thought of "if" or "when"… No use resisting. Abandon thought and let the dream descend. What raging fire floods the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?" _Her head was spinning and her heart would not calm down. But at his next words she realized that he was not singing the music because it was the music for the opera. He was singing it for her. This was their opera. It didn't matter that there were people watching them. This was between her and him.

"_Past the point of no return, the final threshold. What warm unspoken secrets will we learn? Beyond the point of no return…" _It was her turn next to sing of Aminta's passions. She had practiced her part and she knew it well. But truly how well did she know it? Her own emotions were so confusing right now!

"_You have brought me to that moment where words run dry, to that moment where speech disappears into silence…silence…" _And then suddenly she felt as if she was truly singing what she felt. She let the words warm her soul. She was singing what she felt. _"I have come here hardly knowing the reason why…In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent, and now I am here with you. No second thoughts. I've decided…decided." _What she sang no longer felt shocking to her. They were true. It had been true for her all along. She let her hands touch his gloved palms. She could tell that he was shocked by her sudden willingness to touch him. _"Past the point of no return, no going back now. Our passion play has now at last begun… Past all thought of right or wrong." _She let her hands take his and place them on her waist. She could feel him trembling beneath the ebony cloth of Don Juan's robe. She placed her hands against his shoulders. Never had she given this much physical attention to any man. She did not feel shamed._ "…One final question…how long shall we two wait before we're one…? When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?"_ She let his hands roam into her mass of curls. The feeling of his trembling fingers in her hair caused her to shiver. Then with a strong voice he joined her in singing the final verse of the dramatic song that spoke volumes about how Aminta and Don Juan felt about each other.

"_Past the point of no return, the final threshold! The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn…" _She was in his embrace now. His voice showed no sign of the shock that he was feeling. _"We've passed the point of no…return..." _She tilted her head slightly to look under his hood. She saw that Erik's eyes were closed in the passion that filled him. His hands still lay trembling on her waist. She made no move to stop him as he withdrew his hands and placed them once again on her shoulders. The gentle pressure of his palms against her flesh caused a fire to flame inside her. Why had she never seen this before? Very slowly he turned her about so that she faced him and sang something she had not expected.

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…" _He gently slipped off an ebony ring she had not noticed before, off his finger, and held it out to her. She slowly reached out and slipped it onto her ring finger, realizing what she was doing by accepting it. _"Lead me save me from my solitude…" _She gazed up at him her eyes wide. If only she could see his face to know what his eyes looked like as he sang to her. His voice proclaimed his passion and love for her…if only that had been enough….

"_Say you want me with you here beside you…Anywhere you go, let me go too…Christine…that's all I ask of…" _He never reached the end for she suddenly without thinking whisked away the hood, her fingers catching on the edge of his mask sweeping that away also. The gasp from the crowd and from those who stood backstage was ominous as to what would come next. Erik's eyes glowed with fury. His deformity was revealed to all. Everyone knew for certain whom the man was now. She suddenly saw movement in the wings and from the orchestra pit. The officers of the law were suddenly awakened from the trance they seemed to have been in. They were now moving to arrest him. Erik would have none of it. He quickly swept his cloak around her, enveloping her in sudden darkness. She felt the ground drop from beneath her. Then from above she heard a tremendous sound. The chains that held the chandelier aloft had come undone. A horrendous crash with the sound of glass and crystal flying everywhere filled the air above them. The grand chandelier had fallen. Screams of pain and horror erupted from the crowd. And then from somewhere below the stage they heard a terrible laughter of the Phantom of the Opera who had been unmasked in front of all at last.


	48. The End of the Music of the Night

It took a moment for Christine's eyes to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. She felt a strong hand grip her waist with frightening intensity. He was practically dragging her along. She could not match his long stride with her own. The darkness of the tunnel frightened her, but not as much as the man beside her.

"Where are you taking me?" She gasped as she tripped on the uneven ground. Her emotions were running wildly taking her heart with it. She felt as if she couldn't breathe. What had she done? Even now as she gazed at his face she shuddered. There was no mask now to conceal the horrible sight. There was also not a heavy robe to conceal his figure. All he wore was a black shirt that went under his thin opera cloak and dark pants.

"Down once more, to the hell that the darkness holds. I have known it for so long. It is my prison and my cage," His voice was hard and his gaze did not soften as he looked over at her. She could see in his eyes the fury that he was desperately trying to contain. "Why you ask, was I bound and chained to this dismal fate? Not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of my abhorrent face! His voice shook as he tried to control his emotions. He took her hand roughly. "…Now come."

"I'm sorry." She whispered pitifully. He could feel her trembling in fear.

"Your apologies have no merit anymore my dear. Now say nothing more unless you are asked." His eyes glowed like hot coals. He watched as a tear slid slowly down her ivory cheek in response. She was still so young. She could never understand what she had done to him. He took her through the shadows silent as the grave. They wound their way down to the underground lake. He gripped her hand tightly as he helped her into the ebony boat.

She saw that his back was rigid and his hands were unsteady on the pole as he steered them through the dark waters of the lake. She glared down at her reflection in the murky waters. What had she been reduced to? A puppet in the hands of two men. She gazed up at Erik. He looked like a black shadow…a shadow of death. Her eyes closed against tears. Oh what a mess she had made! She shivered in the damp air wishing she had a cloak to wrap around her shoulders. Another tear slid slowly down her cold cheek. She silently pleaded with him to forgive her. She knew it was not possible. What she had done could never be forgiven.

Erik glanced back at her at one time during their trip across the lake. She was crying silent tears. He turned away. He could not let her weaken his heart. Not now, not after he had gotten so far. She would be his and nothing would interfere with his plan…not even her feelings about the matter. His anger had never been so fierce before. He clenched his jaw. They were approaching the other side…approaching the end of their final confrontation. He took her hand and helped her roughly off the boat. She was resisting. He could see every emotion that crossed her face.

"You have no choice, but to face what lays ahead, Christine!" He jerked her forward. He watched her as she almost fell to the ground.

"You cannot do this! They will find me!" She cried. Anger had not yet found away to show in her, but she could feel it bubbling up inside of her.

"They will die before they reach you," He gazed at her coldly. "No one will ever find you…unless I want them to." She paused as if searching for the words to say. Pity washed over her features.

"…What has happened to you?" Christine whispered. "When did you become so much like the demons in hell that you say you resemble?" She felt his hand reach out and grasp hers roughly. His golden eyes held the warmest quality of ice. It reflected his heart. That fact alone made her tremble.

"Come with me, my bride of the heavens. You can witness first hand what it is like to be joined in marriage to a demon from hell!" He pulled her onward through the winding tunnels until they came at last to his lair beneath the opera. His grip on her arm had become unbearable surely to leave a bruise. Their path took them to her room. On her bed lay a gown of white cloth. It was her wedding dress.

"…Oh dear God," She gasped softly. She gazed wide eyed up at him. "…You planned this…You knew what Raoul was planning to do and you were going to steal me away no matter what happened…"

"Very good, little one. Did you take me for a fool? Did you think I would not hear the plan? It was as secret as the sound of a wrong note to my ears." She shook her head in disbelief.

"No…no! Please…" She pleaded.

"Say no more. Put the gown on…" He held up his hand to silence her, his gloved fingers gently touching her lips when she started to speak. "Say no more if you value the lives of others." He quickly shut the door on her, but paused to listen outside her door. It only took a moment for the sound of her weeping to meet his ears. She was heartbroken. He had taken all of her young dreams and crushed them all in one night. His hands went to his face slowly as his lungs tried desperately to fill with air. He was truly a monster…

He slowly moved in the direction of his music room. His eyes beheld his beloved instruments that did not bring him joy now. His head throbbed with rushing pain that he dismissed as merely side-effects of an eventful evening, but he knew there was more to it than that. His fingers brushed across the keys of his organ creating a horrible sound. Somehow pounding out his emotions on his organ helped soothe his headache spells, but tonight it did not. He heard a soft sound behind him and he turned to see Christine. She wore the gown. The beautiful white wedding dress that fit her perfectly. The neckline scooped low in the front with a bit of white lace edging it. There were seed pearls stitched onto the hem of both the sleeves and the bottom of the skirts. A white rose was embroidered delicately on to the waist. She made the dress beautiful however. Even though she was pale and her face was drawn she was still beautiful…like an angel.

"Come with me." He said icily. He left it up to her to make the decision about whether or not she would follow, but he knew that the vision of causing death to innocent people would force her to. She followed. Her head was bowed and tears flowed freely. Curls draped gracefully off her shoulders. She looked like a martyr being taken to the stake to be burned. He watched as she turned her head to see that it was only the underground lake, except it was a different part. It was not the watery path they had taken when they had arrived. It was still the same lake it's waters being pumped in from the main water source. There was a black gate of some sort that looked like it could rise and fall by chains. It had a medieval look to it. The gate separated the water and the stone "shore". There was nothing beautiful about it, either.

"Am I now to be prey to fulfill your lusts, Erik!?" She said saying his name as if it were a curse. He turned towards her, his eyes full of hatred.

"The fates condemned me to this life! I have been denied such lusts or even the thought of such things!" He hissed, he stepped closer to her and placed her hand slightly above the mangled flesh. He felt no struggle, and instead of placing her hand upon his cheek he let it drop away in shame. "This is has been my cage from the world…and from you! It poisons the love you once had of your angel!" He whispered. She turned away. She could not bear to look at him. He continued on slowly and with suppressed emotion that threatened to overwhelm him "This face earned the world's terror and hate…my mask was my only shield against them…" He watched her place her hand upon her own cheek in shock. "…Pity comes to late! Turn around and face your fate! An eternity of this before your eyes!" His voice was now shaking with anger, but his eyes showed pain she had not seen before. He took the wedding veil she had been holding out of her hands. He settled it atop her head like a crown. Now the vision was complete.

"This face that haunted me for so long holds no fear for me now…it's in your heart…and your soul where the true distortion lies." She whispered softly. He felt as if he could not breathe. No…she could not think that! His face was the only thing holding her back from him! No! He shook his head in disbelief. A sound of water moving unnaturally against the stone walls of the tunnel caught his attention. They both looked down into the water. Realization dawned on her as well as horror.

"Wait! My dear I think we have a guest!" Erik said, his tone was eerily mad sounding as if he thought they were already married and getting a call from a dear friend. "Monsieur, this is indeed a delight!"

"Raoul!" She cried out. "No!"

"I had rather hoped that you would come!" Erik said gazing at Christine gauging her response. "You have truly made our night!"

"Free her now, demon!" Raoul shouted from the water. All that separated them was the black gate. "Do what you like with me, sir, but let her go! Have you no pity, monster?"

"Your lover makes passionate speech, Christine." Erik said dryly.

"Please, Raoul can't you see that it is useless?" Christine pleaded with him.

"I love her! Does that mean nothing to you? I love her! Show some compassion please!"

"Do you truly think that the world showed compassion to me?" Erik asked with a sneer.

"Christine…my dear!" Raoul said reaching out his hands through the bars of the black gate. Dirty water dripped off his arms. She couldn't reach his outstretched hands. Panic rose up in her chest. "Let me in, Monsieur! Let me see her!" Raoul demanded.

"Be my guest sir!" Erik strode over to a stone that triggered the gate to rise. Water droplets dripped off the hard iron. "Monsieur, I bid you welcome…did you think that I would harm her?" Erik asked watching the Vicomte struggle out of the water, wearing only his drenched undershirt and his dress pants. When he was on stone shore Erik slowly made his way over to them. Christine flung herself into Raoul's arms.

"Raoul!" She whispered. More tears found their way down her cheeks. Raoul saw the Phantom's path was directed towards them and he quickly stepped in front of Christine to guard her against the threat.

"Really Monsieur, did you think that I would make her pay for the sins …which are yours?!" With a quick flick of his hand push Raoul back against the gate. The lasso was suddenly around his neck. Erik tied the Vicomte's wrists to the metal bars. Christine watch as Raoul struggled against the death grip of the lasso.

"No! Please! You can't kill him!" Christine cried out. "No!" She cried out once again. Tears were streaking down her face. "Erik…Please!" She whispered. The way she said his name caught his ear, but he tried to ignore it. He must have her. He must complete the task he had started. He was nothing without her.

"I heard everything my little one, that you said to him on the rooftop of the opera house. I have grounds to kill him!" He looked over at the Vicomte and stepped close to him. He whispered fatal words. "Nothing can save you, Vicomte except your dear sweet Christine!" He turned back to Christine. "This is your choice! Start a new life with me! Refuse me and you will send him to his death. This is the point of no return! All it takes is one more gentle tug on the lasso and he dies!" Erik smiled harshly at her. He taunted her by placing his hand close to the lasso. Her heart leapt in panic once more and what quickly replaced panic was anger. She gazed coldly at him.

"…The tears I might have shed over your horrible fate grow cold…and turn to tears of hate!"

"Oh forgive me for doubting you…forgive me…forgive me!" Raoul cried out, his voice caught as the lasso tightened because of his struggling.

"Oh Raoul…" She cried.

"So what is your answer!?" Erik asked her. "You are at the point where you cannot run from this any longer!"

"Save yourself, let me die! Either way we cannot escape this." Raoul whispered.

"Tell me you love me and earn his life!"

"Why make her lie to you to save me?" Raoul asked the Phantom. Erik tugged slightly on the rope causing Raoul's head to jerk back in the effort to breathe..

"There is no point in trying to persuade me to change my mind! It is too late for simple prayers to a God that does not hear! It is too late for useless pity!" They suddenly could hear the distant echoing sound of shouts and screams of revenge and weeping for the dead. The great chandelier that had fallen had probably killed many innocent people.

"They are coming! Can't you hear them? The mob knows were you live in this darkness! One of your servants told them! They will find you and kill you!" Raoul said with bitterness edging his voice. So it seemed that Madame Giry had betrayed Erik.

"Let them come! There is no point in trying to persuade me to change my mind! It is too late for simple prayers to a God that does not hear! It is too late for useless pity!" Erik's eyes were ablaze with anger. No pity or remorse could be found in them, but oh how Christine looked for it there.

"Erik?" Christine cried. Pain was etched on her face. Her eyes pleaded with her angel. "Don't do this!"

"Say you love him! Save yourself!!" Raoul consoled her. "I tried so hard to free you!"

"Oh Erik! Why can you not let us go! Let us go! What happen to my childish visions of my angel? Oh where did my angel go?"

"It was a dream…just a dream that you believed." Erik said distantly. It had been a dream that he had believed.

"No…it was all a lie! Oh my angel of music I gave you my mind so blindly!" She replied bitterly.

"You try my patience! Make your choice!" Erik said his eyes glinting with fury. It was best not to anger him further. Christine studied him for a moment and slowly moved towards him.

"Oh Erik…" She whispered. What was she to do? How would she save Raoul? She no longer cared about herself. When she reached him she whispered so that only he could hear. "Pitiful creature of darkness and shadow…what kind of life have you known?" Then after a silent pause she continued on. "Oh God…please… give me the courage to show you are not alone!" She slowly lifted herself upon her toes and kissed him. For a moment he stood stiff unwilling to believe what she was doing. His body shook with the touch of human contact. He had not known the warm touch of anyone his whole life. His mind reeled with the realization of what she was doing. The feeling of her lips upon his sent warmth spiraling into his cold heart. Her small hands curled around his neck. His hands found strength and he slowly placed them around her waist. No music in the world could match such a feeling of passion. His hands crept up to her slender neck as their kiss deepened. Slowly and with great hesitancy they broke away. Erik's mouth opened slightly still bruised from her passionate kiss. She had kissed him without his mask. He felt as if all the air had been forced out his lungs. He couldn't breathe. Shock made his body rigid and he still was trembling from her touch.

"Christine…" He whispered hoarsely. A tear coursed down his mangled cheek. She reached up and gently wiped it away with her soft fingers. She did not shudder as her hand came in contact with his deformity. His eyes gazed at her with complete defeat. He couldn't do it anymore. Her kiss had broken his will. They both continued to look into each other's eyes yearning for the true meaning of the kiss. Silent tears lingered wet upon Christine's cheeks. The moment was shattered by an almost strangled sounding noise. Raoul was gasping for breath. They had surprised him and now he was trying desperately to free himself from the Punjab lasso.

The sound of the mob was growing louder. Soon they would be here. They would kill all who remained in the darkness. They didn't care if they were involved in the plots or not. They wanted the Phantom and all who were seen with him. Fear sent a cold wave of shivers up Christine's spine. She quickly turned back to Erik to see what he would do. Their lives depended on his next words. She watched as realization dawned heavily on him. He was thinking about something. His eyes grew dark with sadness. He avoided her gaze and slowly made his way over to Raoul. Raoul's eyes grew wide with sudden realization of what Erik was about to do, but the lasso's grip on his neck was so tight he could hardly get enough oxygen to move much. Erik raised his hand and with movements quicker than Christine's eye the lasso fell limp in his hand. He quickly slipped it off young man's neck. Raoul placed his hands around his neck rubbing the place where the lasso had been. His eyes held the glint of betrayal, but the look of forgiveness washed over his features once he saw that Christine was well. He hurried to her and took her into his arms. Christine watched Erik slowly bend his head slightly in resigned obedience to fate.

"Take her…" Erik whispered. Christine barely heard him, and thought she hadn't comprehended him correctly. He looked at her longingly and then back to Raoul. "Take her away from here. Take her through the second tunnel away from the main lake, it will lead you to the surface. They won't be able to find you." His voice was louder this time, void of emotion. Raoul looked at him with disbelief written across his face.

"Please… just go," Erik said softly.

"You cannot mean that." Christine whispered in shock. She couldn't believe that he could let her go so easily, but with one glance at his face she realized what a battle he was doing internally. His face was like a sea at storm. He slowly turned his back on them. He could not bear to look at her any longer, he could not bear to think of what their future might have been like.

"Leave me." His voice cracked softly with emotion.

"Christine you must come!" Raoul said with great urgency. The mob was coming closer. Soon they would be upon them.

"Erik?" Christine stepped away from Raoul's embrace. She did not know what to say to him. She reached her hand out slowly to him, but then dropped it back to her side. He was giving what she had wanted. She had wanted to be with Raoul. Is this what she still wanted? She gazed back at Raoul. Her heart was breaking. Somehow in this moment she had to choose!

"Leave me, Christine," Erik commanded her, his back was still turned. She could see nothing of his face.

"Erik…" She cried softly.

"He is what you need, he can give you everything I cannot!" Erik's voice shook with emotion. "Promise me one thing, Christine. Promise me you will speak to no one of this. Always keep the secret of the demon who will always love you in the darkness as long as he lives. Now go!" His voice was taking on more urgency. He cared so much about her. He loved her. He felt as if his heart was dying inside of him. He could feel his chest tightening with ever growing grief. She was dead to him now. He would never be able to move on. He would let the mob do justice to him, and then God could put him where he deserved. His childhood faith had left him, and he was left totally and utterly alone. A soft cry caught in his throat. He realized they were still standing there behind him unable to move. He turned quickly, with complete and utter defeat on his face. "Go!" He cried at them. "Forget me!" Raoul grasped Christine's arm and began to pull her away.

"Angel…" She whispered weeping now. Erik wished her to go with Raoul…so she would go.

"Come Christine!" Raoul cried pulling her with him. "We must hurry!" Christine slowly complied keeping Erik in her sight for a long as she possibly could as hurried away with Raoul.

Erik watched them hurry away. His hands came to his face and his body was wracked with sobs. "Christine…Christine…" He cried softly. He felt as though he could never go on again. The sound of a gentle step upon stone brought his face up quickly expecting a angry glance and a knife from those who were hunting him, but instead it was someone he did not expect. It was Christine. She silently walked over to him and placed her hand upon his. When she pulled away he found he had the ebony ring in his palm. His eyes dropped to the ground.

"Go," He whispered. "Go live your life…" He motioned to the direction she was supposed to go. "Forget me."

"I could never do that…no matter how much I willed myself to," She said gently. "You received what you wished Erik…my soul. That is something I can never…and would never want to take back," She slowly smiled a sad soft sort of smile. "Goodbye." She whispered, tears rolled down her cheeks. Her last image of him was enough to make her weep for years to come. He had fallen to his knees as he watched her go, his face unmasked and wet with tears, and his body shaking with pent up emotion that he could no longer control. The Phantom was defeated. And as they fled Christine heard him speak to the loneliness that now overwhelmed him.

"The light has faded from me at last." Christine bit back a quiet cry of anguish as she listened. "Oh Christine…You alone can make my song take flight…" It was cried out softly and then grew louder as he reached the end. "It's over now…the music of the night!"


	49. The Death of Many Things

Empty…he felt so empty. He had considered letting the mob kill him and they would not hesitate to do so. He knew what that would do to Christine if she saw pictures of his body in the Paris papers the next morning. No he would die in obscurity. Suicide was a coward's way out of life, but oh how he wished he was a coward. He felt as if he was numb to the pain now. He could still feel it throbbing in heart ready to pounce the moment he stood still enough to truly feel its overwhelming power. There would be years enough for that. Years for reflection, memories, and the past, but somehow he knew that his dying soul would not let him even have that long.

He had locked Christine's old room. He would not let them destroy what he had left of her. Now he stood in her room listening as the crowd did their work. He did not care about his possessions anymore. He did not care about his organ or his violin. He would never play his music. All he cared about was her. His hands went to his temple trying to rub the headache away. He felt the pain in his heart erupt into agony. It was not physical pain, but he felt it just as painfully as if it was. He slowly sank down onto her bed, inhaling the scent she had left. It smelled of summer roses and of lilies. Her costume from Don Juan lay thrown over the bed where she had left it. He reached out a hand to touch the material, now cold from the lack of being worn. He caressed the material. "Christine..." He whispered. Slowly he lifted it up to his face and felt his resolve not to feel pain, shatter into a thousand pieces. His weeping filled the room.

Meg had hidden herself in the shadows quite well. Her mother had told her not to follow them, but she had. She was too inquisitive not to. She had broken off from the main group and gone down a tunnel by herself admiring the doors with lovely carvings on each one. The noises of the mob grew dimmer and dimmer as she traveled farther and farther away. She suddenly stopped and tilted her head slightly. Someone was crying…no…someone was weeping. Crying was like shedding tears over something inconsequential. Weeping was shedding tears for what was lost and could not be brought back. Meg quietly tried the door, but it would not open. She started with the realization of who was in the room. It was most likely the Phantom. The one she had told frightening tales of. The one Joseph had made out to be monster. The one who had killed Joseph and Piangi. The one who had haunted them for so long…and the one who was now weeping as if his heart was broken. Meg stepped slowly away from the door and made her decision quickly. She would tell no one of her discovery. She quickly hurried off down the tunnel back to the main group. As she ran she gazed back at the door. She bit her lip and then continued on.

Christine watched the whirling snow fall outside of the Opera House. Raoul was ordering a carriage. All was strangely silent. Everyone had either fled or joined the search for Erik. Things were not silent in her mind which was not at rest. They were going to kill Erik…if they found him…which no doubt they would. He would let them. He had nothing to live for now.

"Oh dear God…" She whispered and gazed up at the heavens. "I've killed him," She watched snow fall as if the sky was weeping. "You would have shown him mercy, but I did not." Realization flooded through her. She had not been true to her real feelings for Erik. She had let his words dictate her life, but no more.

"The carriage is here, Christine." Raoul hurried back to her side. He had finally gotten a carriage to stop for them. She looked slowly down at her empty ring finger, it felt so cold without his ring. "Christine?" Raoul looked at her in wonder at her hesitation. She slowly met his gaze.

"I cannot go with you, Raoul…" She said softly. She looked at him carefully. He was everything her papa would have wanted her to have, but yet she did not want him any longer. She did not love him.

"What do you mean?" He asked. Hurt was etched on every feature. He looked closely into her eyes.

"I cannot go with you." She repeated gently.

"You wish to stay here…with him?" His voice was low and hoarse from shock.

"I suppose that is my intentions yes." She said meekly. She watched him struggle between being a gentleman and a man in love. Emotions flashed across his face that she could not read. "You must understand. I would be lying to you and to myself if I took the wedding vows. I do love you Raoul, but as a close friend…oh how I wish this was not true." He closed his eyes before responding.

"…I have known for a long while who you would choose, my love…my dear." He whispered. "I didn't want to let the dream die. We were perfect together you realized."

"No…we looked perfect together." She corrected softly.

"I suppose you're right about that." He smiled painfully. "Just know something before you go to him…if you ever need anything, just call me…even for a scarf…I'll fetch it for you mademoiselle… as awkward as it sounds."

"Dear sweet Raoul," Christine whispered. "I will…you know I will," She placed her hand gently on his cheek and he placed his hand upon hers. "No words could be better spoken." She smiled softly at him. She felt him shudder.

"Please…promise me one thing."

"What is it?" She asked shivering slightly in the cold.

"Be careful, please." Raoul asked as he turned towards the carriage. He could not bear to climb in. He slowly turned and walked back to her. His arms wrapped around her and cradled her. He imagined life with her, how happy it could have been. He let her go. He let her out of his arms. "Good bye Mon Amour…good bye Christine." Raoul said with a gentle sigh. She watched him climb into the carriage. A sadness fell upon her, but it felt as if she had done something right as impulsive as it had been. She turned to face her future, praying Erik was still alive…

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay. You see I had so much trouble deciding on whether or not the story was going to end like the musical and the book…but as I kept thinking about it I realized I could not let it end that way. It didn't feel right. So I added another chapter and will be adding on more soon. Please give me your thoughts and of course as always be completely honest!


	50. Memories

A/N: This chapter was hard to write for some reason. I don't know why, but it took me a really long time to complete it. Thanks for all of the reviews! I have some thoughts as to what I will be writing after this story. Look out for me after this is completed!

Loneliness had been with him his entire life. Why did it seem to be more overwhelming now? The darkness of Christine's old room held no comfort for him. Erik slowly rose from the bed and found matches on the bureau. He struck it and immediately a flame appeared. He set it to a nearby candle and watched it for a moment as it grew into a comforting light. He silently sat back on to the bed, still watching the candle. It was strange that a simple candle could bring back such memories of her. It reminded him of the night she had been frightened of the dark. More frightened of the dark than of him…At least only for a moment. He wondered what would have happened, if he like the Vicomte had courted Christine like a normal man. Normal. A whisper of a smile crossed his face. Being normal was just a matter of opinion. Besides, he had never been normal. His fingers strayed to a forgotten rose that lay by her costume from Don Juan. He gently caressed the dying flower that had once been in her hair. A petal broke off in his palm.

"No…" He whispered gently. This room, her costume, and the rose was his last link to her. Along with memories that were to painful to remember. He knew that he would never ask the question "why." That was a fool's question. He didn't need to go back to far into the past to realize his past mistakes. But he would never stop loving her. It was a promise he would take to his grave. A tear slowly slid down his cheek. His heart was torn. What suffering would God bring upon him next. He knew that he could take no more in his lifetime. Christine had been his undoing. He closed his eyes and brought the rose to his lips, placing a tender kiss upon the dying petals.

Christine hurried down the dark tunnel picking up hem of her white dress so it would not trip her. She used her hands to guide her as she ran. She could not hesitate for a moment, she had to find him. If he was dead she would never forgive herself. She could feel the sharp stones cut her fingertips as she passed, but she did not care. She had taken the passage that Raoul had led her through only moments before. Everything had happened so fast, but she felt she was doing the right thing. All her life she had been sensible, trying to do what was right. She had lived in a shadow. It was not her father's fault, but he had dictated her life even from the grave. Well now she was taking control of her life. It was almost ironic how she was now using the shadows to help her. They no longer terrified her.

She turned a corner that was dimly lit by torches, but then quickly backed up into the darkness. The mob was still there, searching and tearing things apart. Her eyes welled up with tears in recognition. The organ lay in pieces on the marble floor. No doubt that in that pile lay his violin as well. Her hand slipped up to her mouth in silent horror. All of his music sheets lay in a ragged pile in the middle of the floor. They had torn up every sheet of music that he had written. She hoped dearly that they had not found Erik yet. She watched as people who were so familiar to her tore apart another person's life workings. A flash of blonde hair peeking out of a dirty brown scarf caught Christine's eye. A graceful looking girl with bright eyes was flitting close to the back of the tragic scene. It was Meg. Christine's eyes widened and she stayed in the shadows waiting and watching the crowd. They stayed for a long while trying to find other ways of gaining access to the locked doors, but to no avail. Erik had known that someday something like this would occur. He had built his home to last forever, but he still retained the beauty that he loved. She could see her breath mistily float as she exhaled. She shivered. The wedding dress offered hardly any warmth. She watched curiously as the mob moved off into one of the other tunnels. Madame Giry must have shown them a secret passage that led them around the lake. Christine shook her head. The ballet mistress held many secrets that she would never unlock.

She slowly followed the shadows through the deserted halls silently calling him. Her eyes filled with even more tears as she saw even more of the damage that had been inflicted to his home. How she mourned for him already. He would be filled with sorrow over his destroyed organ and violin. Where was Erik? She prayed to God he was not dead. She prayed that he would be spared. She reached her room, remembering the memories that she had shared with him. She placed her hand against the wood of the door. The picture of the rose on the door had been scraped in anger by someone. The rose had been marred. Christine slowly reached for the doorknob. It was locked.

"Erik." She whispered, gazing around her to make sure that she had not been followed. "Erik…Where are you?" She called softly again. She heard no sounds from within the room. Her eyes closed with disappointment. She turned slowly to continue her search, when suddenly she heard a sound behind her. It sounded like a soft gasp.

"Christine…"


	51. Return to Me

A/N: I know the French grammar is not perfect, but bear with me. I don't know if this will be the last chapter, but I'll let you know! Thanks for your reviews.

"Christine?" Erik's gasp echoed softly against the marble flooring. "What…what are you doing here?" He motioned her quickly inside her old room. The familiar smells of cinnamon and other Persian spices greeted her senses as she entered. He quickly closed the door keeping his back to her for a moment. She could feel his very emotions spiraling out of control. She watched him, drinking in the sight of him like she had not seen him for years. He finally turned to face her. She noticed that he had replaced his mask. The candles threw strange shadows on him making him seem to blend in slightly. He no longer frightened her. All he was…all he had ever been…was a man.

"I realized what my heart truly wants…" Christine said softly clasping her hands together anxiously waiting for his response. Disbelief crossed his face.

"You don't know how long I have waited for those words, Christine…and now to have them spoken…to me. I expected the scene to be different than this." Erik said slowly. He sighed, it was barely audible, but she heard it. "Maybe if I was a normal man this would have worked, my dear…but it will never work."

"What do you mean?" Christine's voice trembled. Had he given her up so easily?

"I wept over you." Erik said gently. "I loved you…and I always will…but you have seen what my life is like. I do not want you to be submitted to a life of hiding."

"Please…"She shook her head, but he stopped her gently before she went on.

"I told you to leave me…" He whispered softly to her. "Oh how this is so wrong." He slowly closed the gap between them and gently placed a hand on her cheek. The leather of his black glove fell silkily upon her skin. Their eyes met and Christine placed her hand upon his. He felt her moving the glove off his hand but did nothing to stop her. She had made her choice. He had not felt another human's touch on his flesh before…other than Christine's sweet kiss upon his lips. His hands had never felt the warm caress of another being. Her cheek was soft to the touch…oh so soft. His eyes closed in agony. She could never stay with him. She was a flower she had to live in the sunlight. While he was a creature of the darkness. The shadows were his home. She was giving him a taste of heaven that would only be taken away from him. A moan of sadness slowly slipped from his lips startled her.

"Why are you crying?" She whispered watching a tear slip from his cheek. His eyes opened and he gazed at her in agony.

"Because I will never have you." He whispered hoarsely.

"I am yours…" She countered placing his hand up on her breast where her heart lay underneath her flesh. "My heart is yours…and so is my soul. I am giving you all you ever wanted…take it." She urged softly.

"I cannot!" He stepped quickly away from her as if the temptation to accept her was to much for him. "Do you not understand?" He cried.

"No…" She wearily shook her head.

"I can never give you everything that you want."

"All I want is you." She whispered forcefully. "I care nothing of anything else of that you can be sure!" He watched her carefully for a moment. He seemed to her so very far away. "Take me with you." Christine stepped slowly over to him and placed her hand upon his mask.

"Don't you understand? I have murdered, Christine."

"I know you have repented. God forgives…he is not that heartless."

"Where has God been these past years?" He asked hopelessly.

"Preparing you for me." She answered him. He closed his eyes trying to escape the pain.

"Don't hide from me Angel, don't go where I cannot follow." He allowed her to slowly slip off his mask watching her face for any signs of fear. Her face held an expression of love…there was no pity to be found. She traced her fingers along the bump of skin and around the hideous part on his forehead where part of his skull was showing. Then she slowly lifted her self up on her toes and placed her lips on his. His hands found her shoulders and his senses were filled with the kiss. He felt so much love from her…it overwhelmed him. He slowly broke off the kiss gasping softly for breath. His gaze swept over Christine, noticing for the first time how shabbily she was dressed. The beautiful wedding dress was now grimy with dirt and torn in some places at the hem. She was shivering on the outside, but oh so warm in her heart. He slowly slipped his other glove off and watched it fall to the floor. He then wrapped his arms around her and gently cradling her. She shivered slightly at his touch. "You're so cold." He said softly. He quickly took off his opera cloak and placed it around her shoulders.

"Erik…" Christine began to protest his action, but he shushed her and gently grasped her hand.

"…You left something here, that I'm sure you will want back…" He slipped the onyx ring back on her finger. It glittered darkly in the dim candle light.

"It is beautiful," She smiled softly. She started to step away from him, but he caught her hand. It seemed as if he was asking her an unspoken question. Only she knew the answer and only she could tell him. "…_je t'aime_." She whispered.

"_je t'aime_." He answer softly. He brushed a curl back from her face. "…_je t'aime_." He slowly leaned forward and captured her lips in a kiss.


	52. Dreaming

**A/N:** Thank you to the five million people who corrected my French grammar… ;-). It is greatly appreciated it. I changed it in my master-copy, so don't worry about it anymore. I think this is indeed the last chapter of this story, but not of my writings of Christine and Erik's life together. So I suppose I could hint that there might be a sequel, but no promises. I just cannot believe how long I've been writing on this story. I loved every minute of it…even the writer's block. I'd like to say thank you to my wonderful reviewers:

A Nonny Mouse (Clever!), reddancer, PhantomKnight (or PK as you are so hilariously called in my Pirates of the Caribbean humor fiction.), Musicallover6, Tony, RubyMoon2, ErikOrlando'sGirl, Viin, af881, Silverwolf47, OperaGhost 1881, LadyWillow, Erika Napoleonica, SmeagultheWeasul, SummerSong, Christine (I've always wondered how many people have wanted that screenname on ), Nicole, Crimson Syirean, Emmy6, junon8thepie, ShadowsChaos, Ladystrider77, Dal Muln, draegon-fire, Nomi-Clawskull, MysticDragon Wolf, PXlism, Jessy, Mel, Mystery Guest, The Real Christine Daae (Also Clever), Sharonarnotdon, lazy.kender19, Sora, phtmangl1013, DolphinAnimagus, Ai have a boring life, Blue Eyes at Night, Zacharias the Pain (By the way you never told me what your final thoughts on my story was) Latalian, dasz, noiseforyoureyes, Lonegungirl88, thedarkonereborn, Nicolio Strombolio, Rowin, Booklover03, artificalnight, La Sylphide, erik'sangel527, pandagal, phantomflutist2, gir, TheCure, Aristophanes, Liljenny (Who did not review on , but shared her thoughts in person), and Phantomraver. I truly hope I didn't miss anyone. Thank you for putting up with short chapters and long waits. Look out for my stories to come. Thank you.

A single candle burned softly illuminating the dark room. Erik silently watched the sleeping figure beside him in the bed. Christine knew not of his persistent nightmares. He had let his past go. Still it haunted him…even after all the years he had put between himself and his past. He brushed a soft curl from her forehead. He watched her eyes flutter open.

"Erik…?" She whispered, concern laced her tone.

"Go back to sleep, Mon amour, all is well." He framed her face with his fingers and gently brushed his lips against her cheek. She breathed deeply and he body relaxed beside him as he cradled her in his arms, but she did not close her eyes. She simply contented herself to remain in his arms and gaze around the room they slept in. It was their second night in the old manor, and she already adored it. It was out in the French countryside and their nearest neighbor was three miles away. She gazed up at the black canopy over their bed. They would raise children in this house. Their life would be wonderful…and they would be happy. Erik would be contented writing his music, and she would have their children to care for. She worried in dark hours of the night that he would be chased by the demons of his past…especially by the memory of his mother. She had awoken in the middle of the night only a few nights ago to the sound of quiet weeping. He was hiding his fears from her.

"Erik…" She whispered again. She tilted her head against the pillow so she could see his face better. His eyes were closed.

"Yes, Christine?" He asked gently.

"Do not be anxious." She placed her hand against his cheek.

"What makes you think that I am?" He asked seriously.

"I have not known you as long as some, but in my heart I have known you forever. I know that you are battling shadows, Angel." She watched his face for a moment, but his expression did not change. He merely placed a soft kiss upon his lips in answer.

"Promise me you'll be happy with me, don't let the darkness keep you away from me."

"I swear it to you, Christine… Sleep now." He said closing his hand over hers. Her tiny fingers and palm fit perfectly in his. They had been married for only two weeks and already she was caring for him. Erik sighed. He would have to try harder. He couldn't keep half of his heart away from her forever. Christine was so perfect for him, but he did not deserve her. He closed his eyes and remembered what she had looked like when he had brought her to the manor. He did not have time to hire men for the renovation on such sort notice. So she had seen it in all of its aging beauty…peeled paint, rotting wood floors, and all. He had guaranteed her that they had enough money to make it into a manor envied by all of Paris. She had shocked him by laughing giddily at him. He should have known she would react that way. She then proceeded to tell him she cared not what the manor looked like as long as the inside of the house was clean, which she could do herself. That was as close to a scolding he had come to so far. He smiled in remembrance. He glanced down at her. She was sleeping, and her breathing had become deep and it was a calming sound.

They had salvaged what they could from his home beneath the opera, taking only what they could carry. The mob had returned soon after and destroyed what was left. He was the Phantom of the Opera House no longer…now he was simply Erik. He had not ever been happy with what he had taken. It was strange that he had been given something that now filled him with the happiness he had always wanted. Christine had been given to him by God. It had been she who had convinced him to believe again. He gazed at her hand in his. The onyx ring still graced her finger. It was a symbol of the past, but yet it was a symbol of the future, for his wife wore it. The ring had been his mothers. She had given it to him before the gypsies had taken him. He had kept it for all those long years, not really knowing why he did. Now the ring served a purpose. It was not a symbol of hate anymore.

"Je t'adore." He whispered to her, even though she was sleeping.

Sleep was overpowering him. He could feel it pulling him lulling him gently into the world of darkness. He felt Christine gently shift her body and then settled back against him. Before he closed his eyes he heard her whisper something…whether it was only in her sleep or conscious he did not care. All he cared about was the words she whispered to him.

"_Je t'adore…ange."_

**FIN**


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